My Fairytale
by Ayra Sei Ethari
Summary: Estel daughter of Elessar has lost everything: father, mother, sister, brother - and freedom. When she is given a second chance at life, she finds herself in what she was always told was a fairytale. Is it? Or is it the past she was meant to live?
1. Prologue

**_My Fairytale_**

_Summary:_ Estel daughter of Elessar has lost everything: father, mother, sister, brother – and freedom. When she is given a second chance at life, she finds herself in what she was always told was a fairytale. Is it? Or is it the past she was meant to live?

_Rating:_ T due to the complexity of the storyline

_Genre:_ angst (mostly emotional) ; mystery ; friendship ; adventure ; romance

_Canon Character(s):_ Gandalf ; Lord Elrond Peredhel ; Aragorn Arathornion ; Legolas Thranduilion ; Boromir Denethorion ; Haldir

_OC Character(s):_ Estel Elessariel ; Eldarion Elessarion ; _Tinúviel Elessariel ; _Lady Kiria ; Lord Elessar

_Set During:_ runs through FotR, TTT, and RotK

_Note:_ This fic is very confusing in the beginning because I wanted to get to the action, which flows smoother and makes more sense, so bear with me through the first couple chapters.

* * *

**_Prologue_**

~ _Eldarion Elessarion_ ~  
I stumbled into the woods, exhausted beyond caring. Branches whipped into my face, adding more wounds to my already bruised body. But I didn't care. My father hadn't cared either, throwing himself time and time again against our foes, trying to avenge the death of my mother and sisters.

But now he too was dead. He who was Elessar – my father, teacher, friend, and so much more besides. My mother and both of my younger sisters had perished a terrible death, trapped inside the flaming structure what once had been our summer estate. My father, anguished, guilt-ridden, and angry beyond belief, had entered battle after battle, throwing himself against opponent after opponent.

But he too was dead. My father had died just moments after his killer had fallen at my own hand, and now I fled from the remaining Orcs who sought to finish the deed.

I dodged another branch before leaping over a small stream. The cries of the Orcs rose in excitement ahead and behind me; I checked my run and whirled to flee in a different direction. An arrow flew past, mere inches from my hand. Gritting my teeth, I began to zigzag cautiously, just enough to make a hard target, but not so much that I pushed my body too hard.

I had to live through this, because the Believers had to know what I had learned. My grandmother needed to know the true name of Strider, Ranger of the Dunédain. It had been long told that we shared blood, but often had we strived to discover his true identity after his death and subsequent replacement in the Fellowship of the Ring by Lord Aragorn, son of Arathorn and heir of Isildur. Now I knew, but my knowledge would have to reach Minas Tirith before it was of any use.

I cried out in pain when an arrow found its mark, and stumbled. I hit the ground hard, but rolled to avoid the most of the impact. As I rolled to my feet, _something_ made me slip, loose my footing, and keep on rolling.

And I rolled into a raging river.

I cursed loudly, but I was caught in the strongest current. It was all I could do to keep my head up above the water, and my strength was fading fast. I took a deep breath and allowed the current to take me under, seeking to make myself a smaller target for the Orcs who had followed me.

I wanted to sigh and groan. My father had been quite skilled as a Ranger, and had trained me well, but in this moment I felt as though I had failed him. The knowledge of our ancestry would die with me, and our line would die out, leaving only one Believer left in all of Middle-earth.

One Believer who approached death, but had no heir to pass on the ancient secrets.

I fought to rise as my lungs began to scream for air, but the current had suddenly grown stronger. Too strong. It felt like someone – or something – was reaching for me, and pulling me down by body, soul, and mind.

I couldn't reach the air, and I couldn't hold my breath much longer. Pressure built on my ears as my lungs seemed to grow. Faint whistling, like the wind but also unlike it, rang in my ears.

I sank into darkness.

* * *

As consciousness crept back into me, I realized that I was lying facedown on the beach of the river I had fallen into. The sun, I was startled to realize, was high in the sky. I frowned. The sun had been sinking below the horizon when I had fallen into the river, so over a day must have passed since then.

I sighed, raking fingers through my dark brown hair. I looked into the river. My reflection stared placidly back at me. Many had often said that I resembled my father so much the two of us could have been brothers were we the same age.

I turned away abruptly at that thought. My father was dead now, as was the rest of my family. Who cared that I resembled Elessar?

I found to my relief that my bow and quiver remained strapped on my back, and that my sheath and sword hadn't been washed away. They all seemed in good shape, and none the worse for being banged about while being washed down a raging river.

My frown deepened as I pondered the river. The river shouldn't have been that high and strong. It was practically the end of autumn, and the melting of the ice and snow that made the rivers overflow had taken place months ago.

My eyes snapped open at the sound of birdsong. My mind fumbled to come up with a satisfactory explanation as to why a bird would be singing in late autumn. It was then that I noted other unusual signs that would not usually be associated with autumn. The trees' branches were far from bare, and the leaves were still green and healthy, not the gold and red and orange one expected in autumn. The sky was clear, and the bluest I'd ever seen in autumn. The sun was warm and shining brightly, not a usual sign.

I shivered suddenly as I passed beyond the tree line. I was no Elf, but even I could sense that this forest was old, very old. I felt as though I'd crossed an invisible boundary, and that even the trees were aware that I didn't belong here. At the feeling, I closed my eyes, trying to gather my senses. I was alone, wet, and without supplies. And I had no idea where I was.

It was a very bad combination.

As if to confirm that, a rough hand grabbed me, whirling me around. I complied, choosing to submit rather than have my shoulder torn off, and found myself face to face with an ugly Orc. Other Orcs closed a circle around us.

"Not a Halfling," the Orc hissed. A white hand imprint was on his face, and he smelled like something foul, something that the Valar had never intended to set foot upon Middle-earth.

"A Man," growled another, licking his lips. "The Master promised us man-flesh."

I frowned. _What master?_ The Orcs that roamed Middle-earth were survivors of the destruction of Mordor and Sauron's demise; they should have no master. Unless someone was planning something against Gondor, of course.

But I had no intention of standing there and letting them eat me. Slipping under the hand, I drew my sword and plunged it deeply into the Orc. It shrieked in pain, withdrawing as others closed in. I gritted my teeth against the pain. Even had I been at my full strength and been fully rested and armored, I could not have held out long against so many attackers.

And I was far from that blessed state.

I whirled around to defend against an attacker just in time to see a long arrow fly into its chest and fell it. There was silence for a moment, and then – suddenly and silently – people were jumping into the combat from all directions, routing the Orcs completely.

"~Kill them all!~" I heard someone order, and the people intensified their attack. A numb feeling grew in my gut. These people moved to swiftly and gracefully to be Men of Gondor, and were too tall to be Dwarves. Both groups of the Dúnedain had long ago died out, yet I could think of no other group that gave orders in Elvish.

Within moments the Orcs were all destroyed, and the nocked bows swung to point at me. Another . . . person leaped lightly down, landing straight in front of me. I gasped as the air blew away the long blonde hair away from the person's face.

His ears were pointed.

"Impossible," I breathed, whirling to see better all of the strangers. All had pointed ears. It couldn't be . . . and here it was, staring me in the face.

But why – and how – could Elves still exist and be present in Middle-earth itself? All had sailed over the Undying Lands after the death of King Elessar and Queen Arwen Evenstar so many generations ago, if I were to agree with the myths of old.

"What is?"

I whirled back around to face the Elf, who had since straightened and was looking calmly at me. I groped for words to explain this impossibility as my mind grasped for some answers.

"~He is a trespasser,~" I heard another Elf say behind my back. "~Why should we listen to his lies?~"

"~Peace,~" soothed the Elf. "~Let him speak first before you pass judgment.~" Switching back to the common speech, he asked, "Who are you, and what business have you in the realm of the Lady of the Wood?"

Now my mind was really spinning. "The Lady of the Wood?" I repeated dumbly. "Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien? How can she . . . I thought she left with the other bearers of the Rings!"

If the Elves had been looking at me strangely before, now they looked as if I was a plague. "~What would a Man know of the Lady?~" questioned a different Elf to the first speaker standing before me, his black eyes holding only hostility towards me. "~He is either a spy or a madman, Haldir. Let us end his misery.~"

I straightened in anger at hearing this. "~I am no madman,~" I snapped. I regretted it when I realized that I had foolishly revealed that I knew Elvish. Now the complete attention of the Elves was on me.

"~You speak Elvish,~" noted Haldir, recovering far more quickly than some of his comrades.

I shrugged, wincing as pain raced up my side. "~As have all my fathers before me,~" I retorted. "~All who remain of my order must, else there would be no way to maintain the ancient ways passed down for centuries.~"

The Elves seemed to relax slightly. "~Are you a Dúnadan?~" Haldir asked, his gaze piercing.

My mind began to spin again. "~A Dúnadan?~" Now I couldn't restrain my own confusion. "~The Dúnedain died out generations ago,~" I said cautiously. "~The stewards disbanded them and they died one by one of 'mysterious causes'.~"

"~The Dúnedain are very much alive,~" Haldir countered evenly.

The pieces began to fall into place. I swore softly under my breath. Now I recognized Haldir's name, for he had been the Elf who had led some Elves to aid King Théoden in the battle of Helm's Deep. And if the Dúnedain still existed, Elves still lingered in Lothlórien, and the Lady Galadriel was still here . . . well, basically I was in the past!

Excitement began to course through my weary body. If I was back so far in the past, maybe I could what knowledge I had to prevent what had happened in my world. I frowned as the problem presented itself early on – I had no idea of what had truly happened that had ended King Elessar's line and allowed the stewards to seize control.

"~Who are you?~" demanded yet another Elf who finally seemed to have tired of my questions.

"~I am Eldarion,~" I answered absently, my mind running through various scenarios. Whispers coursed through the Elves present.

"~An Elf name.~" Haldir sounded surprised. "~And yet you are of the race of Men.~"

I shrugged. "~One of my sisters is called Tinúviel,~" I replied. "~It is tradition among my order to name our heirs after the legends of old.~"

"~Legends of old?~" Haldir's tone had turned skeptical. "~Lúthien Tinúviel was no legend.~"

"~She is to us,~" I said sadly. "~The common people don't even believe in Elves nowadays, much less Lúthien Tinúviel.~"

Understanding dawned on Haldir's face. "~And so you wonder at us, for you have longed believed us nonexistent.~"

I gave a harsh laugh. "~Nonexistent? No. We of my order have long perpetrated the belief of your existence on Middle-earth once long ago. No, what we believed is that all of you had sailed over to the Undying Lands after King – ~"

Here I broke off, regretting my quick tongue. I shouldn't have given out so much information about the Believers. Relief coursed through me when I remembered that I hadn't said whose son I was, for I was certain that Lord Aragorn already had the title Elessar in this world. But Haldir was having none of it.

"~King who?~"

I kicked myself mentally. Of all the things I could have said, I had to have blurted that out! "~The King of my people,~" I answered, sidestepping the question.

Haldir's eyes narrowed – he wasn't buying it. "~Who are you? Answer truthfully, for you can't leave.~"

I snorted. "~Wouldn't dream of it. It's either face you Elves or face the stewards. In truth I'd rather face you.~"

"~Are you an exile?~"

I laughed again, but my laugh was bitter. I hadn't laughed in joy since my mother's death, and certainly wasn't going to laugh again in joy for a long time. "~Yes. The stewards hate all who perpetrate the old legends. In fact,~" I reasoned, "~if it's possible I'm doomed to be exiled, because of the name I carry.~"

The air grew thick with tension. "~What is wrong with an Elven name?~" asked an Elf coldly.

"~You don't exist, remember?~" I pointed out sourly. "~The stewards don't want to be reminded of the days of old. The last person foolish enough to speak out against that was executed . . . oh, about thirty years ago. I believe he too had an Elvish name. . .~"

I trailed off, sensing the Elves' rage grow. Cold fury burned in their eyes. Angry murmurs passed around, and Haldir voiced them. "~From what country do you hail?~"

I bit my lip. "~I don't hail from anywhere anymore. I'm an exile, the last of my line.~"

Haldir's eyes softened slightly. "~We can offer you sanctuary,~" he said softly. "~But we will not harbor any we do not know about.~"

"~Well, I don't exactly relish the idea of having my name bouncing around,~" I said sarcastically. "~The stewards won't give up until my whole line is dead. And so far they've succeeded, because here I am, facing certain death by Elves.~"

"~What of your sister, Tinúviel?~"

"~She died," I said shortly. "I don't want to speak about that.~"

"~And your father? Mother?~"

"~All dead,~" I answered, but my voice shook. "~My mother and sisters perished in a fire; the stewards said it was the work of the Istari. Those of my order know that's a lie; the Istari left our shores long ago. My father died a few days ago.~"

"~The Istari still dwell in Middle-earth,~" Haldir reminded me. "~In fact, I believe Gandalf is in Lothlórien at this moment.~"

I looked at him with excitement. Most likely, if I hadn't gotten the times mixed up, Gandalf was still Gandalf the Grey and Saruman was still the head of the Istari. But I knew that he would soon become Gandalf the White, and would one day openly wear the Ring of Fire, Narya, when he sailed to the Undying Lands with Lord Elrond Peredhel of Imladris and Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien, the other two bearers of the Three Elven Rings. "~You mean Mithrandir?~"

"~You know him?~"

"~Of course. His deeds are held in great renown among those who still believe.~" His future deeds, I amended silently.

Haldir's gaze traveled over me once more, as if assessing me. His eyes seemed just as piercing as any famous Elven Lord or Lady. The other Elves merely looked to him. Haldir was, after all, the marchwarden of Lothlórien.

"~We will bring you to speak with the Lady,~" he announced finally. I heard a few unhappy mutters from behind, but the Elves did lower their bows and relax their stances. "~But you must go blindfolded until we reach her.~"

I sheathed my sword, keeping my hands visible so as not to alarm the Elves. "~I would expect nothing less, Haldir.~"


	2. Chapter 1

_**Chapter One**_

**The Fourth Age**

~ _Estel Elessariel_ ~  
I rolled over in the hard bed, and my body protested from the treatment. I grimaced, and sat up. Life as a slave was not pleasant, not at all.

I hadn't always been a slave, though. Once, a very long time ago, I had been the youngest daughter of the Lord Elessar of Gondor, and a sister to Eldarion and Tinúviel. But, alas, all were dead save me. My mother and sister had perished in a fire, one that I had escaped only because my uncle and aunt had taken me to Minas Tirith earlier that day for a surprise visit. My father had sworn revenge, and thrown himself into battle after battle. He had died in my brother's arms, and Eldarion had hunted down those men in revenge. But somewhere along the way the hunter had become the hunted, and my brother had fled into the forests of Mirkwood.

He was never seen again, and that had been eighteen years ago, when I was only three.

I barely remembered anything about those days, save for the day we were told that Eldarion was dead. My grandmother had nearly fainted from shock and . . . something else. I thought it had been fear, but never had I spoken of it.

I had not felt fear or shock or anger. I hadn't been old enough to know what it meant when someone was dead. For a long time no one had told me. In fact, no one had ever told me.

I had found out myself, when my aunt had died, only about six years after our enslavement. The stewards had ordered the arrest of my whole family a year after my brother's death, and my uncle had died working the mines only about two years later. My aunt had perished from grief and despair. And my grandmother, some part of me whispered, would follow one day. One day she would heed the call of death, and leave this world.

And she would leave me.

~ _Galadriel, daughter of Kanya_ ~  
I could feel my strength waning even as I lay there. I was old by the standards of Men, but by the standards of my forefathers, I was young, only about ninety years old. I was one the last of an ancient line – the line of the Kings of Númenor. In me ran the blood of Tindómiel and Atanalcar, the two of the children of Elros Tar-Minyatur, first High King of Númenor, and in my husband had run the blood of Vardamir and Manwendil. We had passed that combined blood on my son, whom we had called Elessar. His wife, Kiria, had had the blood of the Lady Éowyn and Lord Faramir.

Long ago had the King Elessar and Queen Arwen Undómiel ruled Minas Tirith, but that line had fallen into ruin many generations ago. When enough time had passed and all those who remembered had been dead for over four generations, the stewards had eventually put about that they had never existed, and that the Lord Denethor, son of Ecthelion II, had simply passed on his ruling to his son, Boromir.

But some did not believe those stories. I was among those some. We were of an order similar to the Rangers and the _Elendili_, and called the Believers. We believed the old myths, as the stewards called them, and in us had run the bloodlines of the ancient kings through a Ranger named Strider and the Elf Arwen Undómiel before her marriage to King Elessar.

But, alas, no one remembered the true identity of Strider. The knowledge had died with my great-great-grandmother, whose daughter and heir had not been part of the Believers. It was tradition that such secrets be passed on to heirs at death, but as the heir had not believed, the secret had died.

It was said among us that he had died on the quest of the Fellowship of the Ring, and Lord Aragorn, son of Arathorn, had taken his place and risen to be crowned King Elessar. That was all we knew – that Strider had been a Ranger under Aragorn, and the first lover of Lady Arwen. Anything more we did not know.

It had been on a mission to discover Strider's identity that Eldarion, son of my son, had died. He had never returned, and whatever he had learned had died with him.

_Alas that these evil days should be mine_, I thought to myself, repeating the words King Théoden of Rohan had spoken at the death of his only son and heir, Théodred. _The wise and old perish while the young turn away and linger on. That I should live to see the last days of my order._

For Eldarion and Elessar were both dead, and Estel could not take the throne. No. If anything was to be hoped for, it would be that Estel would bear a son who could take the throne. And Estel might not even choose to be part of the Believers. If that was so, then all of the knowledge handed down for centuries in the Believers would die with me, for I was the last.

I wet my lips. Now was the time. "Estel," I called softly.

~ _Estel_ ~  
I hurried to my grandmother's side. "Grandmother?" I asked. Her eyes, once a vibrant blue, slid open at my voice. She gave a weak smile.

"My time has come," she said.

I felt as though the floor had fallen out from under me. Fear seized me. I had lived through the deaths of my mother, sister, father, brother, uncle, and aunt. I couldn't loose my grandmother! She was the last family member I still had.

But she cut off before I could protest. "My time comes," she began, "and I would not have it wasted with pleas and reassurances. For I can give none to you, my child, that you do not already have."

I bowed my head, straining to hold back tears. "~May you pass in peace,~" I murmured, using the traditional blessing my grandmother had taught me so many years ago in the Elven tongue.

My grandmother's eyes brightened somewhat upon hearing the blessing. "Ah, so still you hold dear the words of the tongues of our ancestors," she said. "That is good, for what I know cannot pass except through a fellow Believer."

I cocked my head. I was sure my grandmother was mistaken. The Believers had been some sort of cult long ago, they who had promoted some sort of belief . . . and most often had been executed for it as well.

My grandmother smiled faintly. "You think that I speak in the illness of old age, perhaps, or that I speak in hope of a hope long faded. No. The Believers are still alive. In fact, your brother and father were Believers."

I stared at my grandmother as the pieces began to fall into place. The stewards hated the Believers, claiming that they made claims that undermined their stewardship. They always said that the legends of King Elessar and the others were just that – legends. They weren't true and would never be true. Elves? Dwarves? Hobbits? Myths meant to entertain children. Númenor? Rohan? Imladris? Pretty dreams by a bard. The Three Rings? The One Ring? A scary story.

But the Believers believed in all of these. They said that they were true, and before public opinion had turned against them, had walked with dignity, saying that in their veins ran the bloodlines of King Elessar and Queen Arwen.

"Is that why our family was enslaved?" I asked slowly. The stewards had persecuted the Believers mercilessly in the past years; if my father and brother had been part of that, then maybe that would explain our enslavement.

My grandmother looked away. "Yes."

I took a deep breath. "Then you need me to be your heir." I knew a little bit about the traditions of the Believers. One of them was that the ancient secrets could only be passed on to a fellow Believer, one who became the heir and then holder of those secrets. With the dwindling numbers, I guessed that only one heir was needed. "Eldarion was your heir at first, wasn't he?"

"No. Elessar was my heir, and Eldarion his. It was unusual for two heirs to learn before the original person was dead, but at that time the stewards seemed to be loosing interest in the Believers, and I thought that maybe it would be safe to start growing once more. Unfortunately, that turned to be exactly what the stewards wanted, and we were all caught. Thankfully, they thought that the secrets died with your father and brother. They didn't realize that the Believers could have a female or a male heir."

"Oh." I couldn't think of anything else to say. Eldarion had been my greatest role model before his disappearance. I had always rushed to greet him first, and he had always obliged to help me learn to write and read and play with me. How could I respond to my grandmother know that I knew it had been her decision to enlighten Eldarion and thus endanger him – and in the end, cause his death?

"I know that it was not the best idea," my grandmother said quietly. "It was a foolish hope, one that cost you much. But I too had lost. I've had to watch my sons, my daughter-in-laws, my granddaughter, and my grandson die, and now I'm about to leave you." Pain shone in her eyes, and sympathy began to creep back into my system. I had suffered for her mistake, but she had the added burden of knowing that she had caused it. _That must have been so much agony_.

My grandmother took a deep breath. "But duty dictates that I pass on what I know." She raised her eyes to meet mine. "Will you agree to become the heir to the last Believer?"

For a moment, I considered refusing. I had seen my brother and father and mother and sister and uncle and aunt all be killed because of the beliefs of the Believers. I didn't think that more bloodshed was necessary. And it had been a faulty decision that got my brother killed – what if the Believers believed in faulty beliefs?

My grandmother seemed to understand my confusion. She pressed something cool into my palm. I peered at it.

It was a green stone, cool and glinting in the faint light. No. It was an eagle-shaped brooch that shone silver, and set in it was the green stone. _It isn't an emerald_, I realized. _What is it?_

"The Elessar, also called the Elfstone," my grandmother answered. I flushed as I realized that I had spoken aloud my thoughts. "It was passed down from the Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien to her daughter, Lady Celebrían of Imladris, and in turn to Queen Arwen Undómiel. Later it returned to Lady Galadriel, and she gave it Lord Aragorn when he joined the Fellowship. It is one of the heirlooms of the Believers that were small and unknown enough for us to salvage from the stewards."

"So the stories are true."

"They have never been anything else."

I closed my hand around the brooch. I took a deep breath, and made the decision that would change my fate forever, for good or ill.


	3. Chapter 2

_**Chapter Two**_

~ _Estel _~  
For what seemed like days, my grandmother educated me on everything about the Believers. I learned the traditional greetings, how to name myself, the secret doings – _everything_. By the time my grandmother seemed close to finishing, my mouth had been hanging open in astonishment for a very long time.

My grandmother chuckled. "Close your mouth, my Estel, or otherwise . . ." She trailed off, her eyes sparkling with laughter.

I shut my mouth at once. "What does 'Estel' mean?" I asked curiously. I had not been called 'Estel' since I had been three, and yet . . . it seemed to fit in some way. It wasn't because that had been Lord Aragorn's false name during his fostering; something else seemed to make it feel . . . right.

"Hope. Lord Aragorn was named 'hope' because he was their last hope," my grandmother explained. "I named you 'hope' because you were born at the same time hopes began rising that the Believers could arise again."

That question answered, I moved on to other questions. Caressing the Elessar, I inquired, "Are their other heirlooms besides the Elessar?"

"Yes, of course. The Believers possessed three heirlooms – the Elessar, the Ring of Barahir, and the Evenstar pendant. The Ring of Barahir was passed on to your father, and to your brother before he died. This was good, because your father was found while your brother was not, and I thank the Valar that the stewards never got ahold of Barahir's ring. The Evenstar I passed on to your mother and then your sister, for it was only right that Tinúviel possess what her namesake's embodiment did. But the Elessar I withheld. It is the most powerful of all of the heirlooms, even though the others surpass it in symbolism. And now I give it to you."

I bowed my head. "I am honored." My grandmother spoke the truth; the Elessar, while not as powerful in its symbolism as the Evenstar or the Ring of Barahir, the Elessar had more power in terms of affecting its surroundings.

"Estel . . ." My grandmother's voice faded away, and the sparkle in her eyes dimmed. Bowing my head, I felt tears appear on my face.

_May you find peace in death, Lady Galadriel._

* * *

The days afterward flashed by. I could barely remember anything. I was so numb from my grief that I couldn't feel anything else.

At night, I fingered the Elessar, keeping it always with me. It was my last connection to a past long gone, and I drew strength from it. It was piece of connection to my grandmother and my ancestors, and it would never leave me.

* * *

"You don't belong to me anymore," the steward hissed.

I stared at him, finally shocked out of my numbing, robotic state. Then the mind-blowing conclusion hit me – if I didn't belong to the stewards anymore, then I was sold!

I trembled slightly. The stewards weren't kind, but I knew they expected me to do. If I were to be sold, then I would have to learn all over again.

The steward straightened as someone barged in. "Ah, Your Majesty. Here she is."

He glanced at me. "Slave. Your new master. King Cezar of Dol Amroth."

* * *

I'd always wondered why slaves shivered at the name of Cezar of Dol Amroth. Now I knew. I was aware of nothing else but the pain, the violation.

Sometimes, I wondered bitterly if it was worth continuing to fight to live if I had to live with this.


	4. Chapter 3

_**Chapter Three**_

~ _Estel _~  
I slipped into the library and sighed in relief. The rooms of Dol Amroth were usually very cool, and for most was the perfect temperature, but for me, it was terribly cold. Minas Tirith was very warm compared to Dol Amroth.

_You'd think I'd be used to it by now_, I thought with sad amusement. I had been in Dol Amroth for two months now. I had learned from the king that he had purchased me because he had become enamored of me one of his visits to Minas Tirith. Apparently for some reason the stewards had had be dance and sing for them, and he had quickly fallen under my spell.

The king had also wanted a son, and today I had learned that I was pregnant with a child. All of the doctors had proclaimed joyously that all the signs foretold a son. The king had been overjoyed, and was now celebrating in the main halls.

But it was so drafty there, and I had convinced him to let me go to the library. A fire was always kindled there, and I found the temperature easier to bear in the library than anywhere else. The king had first thought that I was insulting his city, but I had managed to assure him that it was just my hormones making me more sensitive.

"My lady?"

I jumped in surprise as a voice sounded from behind me. Whirling around, I turned just in time to see a well-built, surprisingly handsome man emerge to look at me. His eyes immediately darted downward to my stomach, and I realized with some surprise that my arms were positioned protectively in front of my stomach, shielding my child.

"You have his child." The sentence was said matter-of-factly, calmly, and yet for some reason I thought – for a moment – that I heard a ring of fury in it as well.

"Yes. He hopes for a son," I replied, sinking down to sit.

The man shrugged. "So do all kings and most leaders," he said nonchalantly. I eyed him for a moment, wondering who he was. He was dressed in plain clothes of neutral, earthly tones. Short dark hair crowned his head, and powerful dark eyes examined me in return.

"Can you read?"

I turned back to the man, startled. "What?"

He held out an old, worn book. The cover was plain; only a dark blue cover with no symbol or title on the front. "Can you read?" he repeated.

I shook my head wordlessly. No slaves were taught to read; it was said that it made us less focused on our tasks. The man frowned.

"Well, as the consort to the King of Dol Amroth, you should be able to read," he said in a thoughtful tone. "I can teach you . . . if you wish."

I stared at him. He knew how to read? Only those of the higher classes were literate, but if he was, why would he waste time on a lowly slave? He couldn't be attracted to me; he already knew I carried the king's child.

"I wasn't always a slave," he explained, sitting next to me and laying the book down in front of us. "I learned how to read a long time ago, and I'm a bit rusty, but I think we can figure it out."

* * *

And so it was that I began the arduous task of learning how to read and how to write. My teacher was patient and understanding, and knew almost all the legends he taught me by heart.

"The palantíri were seeing stones, and they were a gift from the Eldar to the Men of Númenor. Seven were salvaged by Elendil and his sons when Númenor was drowned by Eru Ilúvatar. Three Elendil held; two were gifted to Isildur and Anárion each. . ."

"Lúthien Tinúviel was the only child of King Thingol of Doriath and Melian the Maia. It was said that she was most beautiful of all the Children of Ilúvatar. She gave her love to Beren Barahirion, and when he died she died as well, being the first immortal to accept the Doom of Men. But she was not the last, for her descendant Arwen Undómiel too gave her love to a mortal. . ."

"The _Simarils_ alone contained the light of the Two Trees of Valinor after Melkor destroyed them. One was borne back to Valinor by Eärendil and Elwing; the other two fell into water and earth when stolen and then cast away by Maglor and Maedhros. . ."

* * *

Months passed this way, but never did I ask the man's name. He knew my name, of course, just not my true name – Estel Elessariel. Finally, as the eighth month approached and the castle was preparing for the birth of my son, I dared to ask his name.

"What is your name?"

The man froze mid-word. "Costin," he answered finally.

I eyed him, doubting it. The word came . . . unnaturally to his lips. I highly doubted that it was his true name. "I don't think so."

Costin smiled. "Yes. Your insight serves you well, Estel Elessariel, leader of the Believers and the last heir of King Elessar and Queen Arwen."

I gaped at him. "You – You know?" I sputtered in disbelief. "But how can you? You are no Believer!"

He eyed with me with amusement. "On the contrary, my lady," he said, inclining his head. "My true name is Círdan Faramirion."

I stared at the man. Círdan Faramirion had been my sister's fiancée, all those years ago. "What?" I stammered. "You cannot be!"

Círdan smiled grimly. "Ah, yes. The stewards thought it better to pretend I was dead," he explained. "I've tried for months to contact your family; no one ever told me what had happened to the Believers."

"The Believers don't really exist anymore," I said quietly. "All of my family have entered the void; even Lady Galadriel died almost a year ago."

"And now the Believers will die out. I don't think your son will help us, Estel. It will be up to you to help us regain the throne."

"But how? I'm just a slave now, and the Elessar is not meant for grand magical escapades." I was growing exasperated now. "And what's worse is that I'm a female. The stewards barely tolerate those of royal blood, and much less will they tolerate a female."

Círdan shrugged. "Only you can do it, Estel. You're going to have to find a way, somehow. I can help you, can aid you, but to make you queen – only you can do that."

* * *

I stood at the edge of the cliff. The wind blew my hair and my dress about me. The fury of the King would be great when he discovered what had happened – his son and heir had passed away in the night.

I was not willing to stay and discover how great his wrath would be.

I closed my eyes. Things were worse in Gondor now, not better. Strange creatures had laid waste to Ithilien only a few months prior, and the stewards were scrambling to enlist more and more men for the army. But no matter how large a force they assembled and sent, not a single person ever returned from the battle.

Círdan's face flashed through my mind momentarily. He had been sold already; I doubted that I would ever see him again. But his last lesson echoed in my mind: _"The Lady Elwing cast herself into the sea with the Simaril, and Ulmo bore her out of the waves and gave her the form of a bird."_

I stared down at the waves lapping at the cliff beneath my feet. Then I fingered the Elessar.

And then I, Estel Elessariel, last heir to the throne of Kings in all of Middle-earth, cast myself into the sea with the Elessar.


	5. Chapter 4

_**Chapter Four**_

**The Third Age**

~ _Lord Elrond Peredhel _~  
I looked up with concern as Glorfindel burst in the room. It was unlike the Balrog-slayer to look so worried; he had so many years under his belt that rarely did anything startle or worry him anymore.

"Mithrandir's here," he said, forestalling my questions. "He came on the back of Gwaihir . . . and apparently they picked up someone else along the way."

_Gwaihir? Why would Mithrandir come on the back of an eagle?_ Mithrandir had often been a guest of Imladris, and had come during unusual times with unusual methods of travel and with unusual messages of varying alarm and surprise, but never before had he come on the back of an eagle.

When we reached the hall, I stopped short in surprise. Mithrandir looked . . . beaten. He was injured, and there was an air of infinite sadness around the Istari. At first I was concerned for his emotional well-being, but then I realized that the sadness had to do with the figure he was cradling.

I hurried over. "Mithrandir, what – " I trailed off as I got a better look at the figure. It was a young woman with long dark brown hair and closed eyes. She looked normal, but at closer inspection I realized that this was not so. Her breathing was too erratic, and blood stained her clothes. She looked much too thin for even a child, and she was no child.

"Quickly, come," I urged.

~ _Mithrandir_ ~  
Elrond nodded sadly, stroking the young one's hair. One of the servants had helped to bathe and change the child, and now we could see that she was startlingly young. But even with all the dirt and blood gone, bruises still marred her delicate form.

"How did you find her, Mithrandir?" Elrond asked.

I frowned. "It was . . . strange. For a few moments, I thought my eyes were deceiving me – a white bird, struggling to fly? Then, when I got closer and took her out of the air, she . . . she wasn't a bird any longer. Just a girl, just as you saw."

_Just like Elwing's fate_, I thought suddenly as I finished. Yes, indeed, the girl _did_ remind me of the Lady Elwing.

"You know, if I didn't know better, I'd think she was one of the Dúnedain," Glorfindel said suddenly, breaking the silence. "She looks a lot like Aragorn, only she's . . . different."

I ran a critical eye over her. Yes, Glorfindel was right. The long dark brown hair was similar in shade to Aragorn's, as were her grey-blue eyes. That she had Elvish blood was not in question.

Elrond looked thoughtful. "I would think so too, Glorfindel, but no Dúnadan would sell their child as a slave," he said. "And my sons have reported no missing children from the Dúnedain for many years."

_Who are you, little one?_ I thought.

Glorfindel stretched. "Well, this certainly has been an exciting night," he remarked tiredly. "I'm off in search of dinner and sleep. Coming, Mithrandir?"

I was about to reply when suddenly the girl shrieked.

~ _Estel_ ~  
He hit me again. I shrieked in pain, rolling away, trying desperately to evade the blows he was showering on me. Each movement was met with pain, and I couldn't see.

Hands suddenly captured me in a strong grip, and I struggled. "No! No, please! Please, stop!" I cried, not expecting mercy yet pleading for it all the same.

A strong, calm voice suddenly pierced through the darkness like a burst of light. "Calm down, and awaken, young one. You are in no danger. No one will harm you."

My eyes snapped open, and I pulled away from the voice, scared. "Who – Who are you?" I stuttered, pulling away from the person. He carried an air of nobility around him, as did the other two. This one had dark brown hair that was longer than I had ever seen on a male. Serious grey eyes looked calmly at me.

One by the door possessed the same air, but he had long blonde hair and blue eyes that seemed filled with fire – the kind of fire that can both excite and burn. He scared me, in a way. He seemed as if . . . as if he'd looked death straight in the face and lived to tell the tale.

The last person was an old man dressed in grey, with long white hair and an equally long beard. His air was older than the others, and seemed slightly wiser than the others.

"How do you feel?" the dark-haired one asked gently. I felt slightly safer around him, for some reason that I could not fathom.

I returned my attention to him, startled. No one had ever asked me that before. "Fine, I suppose," I said slowly.

The blonde-haired one snorted. "If you feel fine after being beaten up that badly, I'd hate to see what would be left of you when you felt bad," he said sarcastically, but mirth danced in his blue eyes.

"Do not tease her, Glorfindel," the dark-haired one scolded lightly. "Valar knows what she's gone through."

He turned back to me. "What's your name, little one?" he asked, his tone as gentle as before.

"Estel," I answered shyly.

"Well, Estel, get some sleep," he said gently. When I did not comply immediately, he repeated, "No one will harm you."

Something about him made me trust him, and I sank back down to sleep.

~ _Elrond_ ~  
That night I went back to check on Estel. To my relief, the young one was sleeping soundly, curled up in the bed. The moonlight highlighted her young face, and it gleamed in the coils of her dark brown hair.

I found myself being forcibly reminded of my Estel – Aragorn. Both were young when they came to me, both in dire need of their own name, and both . . . _Both in need of a father,_ I finished. I brushed my fingers lightly over her forehead before turning to leave.

Estel suddenly rolled over, and something dropped onto the floor. I leaned down to pick it up. It was a silver brooch in the shape of an eagle with a bright green stone inlaid in it. My eyes widened. _The Elessar._

The Elessar had belonged first to Galadriel, who had then given it to Celebrían. Last I knew, Arwen had returned it to Galadriel at her last stay. So how would a human come by it? Estel was not of Lothlórien; she wasn't even an Elf. Why would Galadriel gift such a powerful talisman to a human with no connection to the Elves?


	6. Chapter 5

_**Chapter Five**_

~ _Estel _~  
I awoke with a distinct feeling that I was missing something. I sat up with a gasp as I realized that the Elessar was gone. I looked around wildly.

"Looking for this?"

I whirled to face the dark-haired healer from before. He held the Elessar, and his grey eyes were stormy. I reached out for it, but he did not yield it. I frowned, confused. Only the Believers knew what the Elessar was truly worth; why would a common healer want it?

"It was my grandmother's," I said finally.

One of his eyebrows rose. "Your grandmother's? Who is she?"

I hesitated. By my oath, I could not explain too much of the Believers. But even more pressing was the knowledge that most of the common people did not like or believe the Believers. "My grandmother, the Lady Galadriel," I answered.

His eyes widened. "How can you be a child of Galadriel?" he demanded. "You are no Elf, and neither are a half-Elf."

I cocked my head, confused now in turn. Of course I wasn't an Elf! _Where did he get that idea?_ "What are _you_ talking about?" I retorted. "The Elven Lady Galadriel passed over the sea long ago, many, many, many generations before I was born. I speak of the Lady Galadriel who was the mother of my father, Lord Elessar of Gondor."

~ _Elrond_ ~  
I stared at Estel. What she was saying was utterly impossible, and yet I sensed no lie from her. That could only mean . . .

"What Age do you live in?" I asked, striving to keep my voice from trembling as I gave her one last test.

"The Fourth Age of Middle-earth," she answered unblinkingly. "The Third ended when the Ring-bearers passed over the sea, for they said that it was the twilight of Elves and that the time had come for the Dominion of Men."

I handed her the Elessar, my mind spinning with what I learned. Estel _wasn't_ lying. I knew that without a doubt, for even with Vilya I sensed no lie, and in my over six thousand years I had become an exceptional judge of character. That meant that for some reason and somehow, she was from the future. _Now the question becomes, does _she_ know yet that she is in her past?_

"Are you a Believer?" Estel asked suddenly, breaking into my thoughts.

I shook my head. "No, Estel. I am no Believer. I am Lord Elrond of Imladris."

~ _Estel_ ~  
For a long moment I gaped at him. _Lord Elrond? That's – That's downright impossible! He sailed generations ago!_

He smiled. "That was my first reaction too, you know," he said wryly, nodding toward my open mouth. I shut it, blushing furiously. "So. You are not from this age. Tell me, what has become of Middle-earth that a human child would come to possess the Elessar?"

"I am no mere human child," I corrected him. His eyebrow rose again, but he did not comment. "I am the last of the Believers. We are . . . basically the _Elendili_ of the Fourth Age. Through my parents and grandparents, I am a descendant of all four children of Elros Tar-Minyatur and of . . . oops."

"Of who?"

I blushed again. I hadn't considered _this_ part. As a descendant of Arwen Undómiel, I was also a descendant of Lord Elrond. _Oh, is this awkward. How do I tell him that he is destined to forever lose his daughter to a mortal as Thingol lost Lúthien?_

"Of you," I finished finally, looking him straight in the eye. "I am descended from Elros and Vardamir Nólimon through a Ranger named Strider, and from you I am descended from Arwen Undómiel."

~ _Elrond_ ~  
_Strider? Arwen?_ I closed my eyes. Oh, I knew who Strider was. But for that marriage to come about, it meant two things – that Aragorn would fulfill his destiny and become King of Gondor and Arnor, for that would be no other way that Arwen would marry him, and that . . . that I would lose Arwen. For her to marry Aragorn would be for her to choose mortality, and die.

"Lord Elrond?" she asked cautiously. "Are you all right?"

I gave her a forced smile. "Yes. I just . . . The things that you speak of have not yet happened."

Estel leaned back. "Probably," she agreed. Then she continued, telling me of everything that befallen her and Middle-earth.

I felt rage and sadness fill me as I absorbed her tale. For Middle-earth to fall from a kingship of Aragorn and Arwen to become a place ruled by stewards where the ancient bloodlines were preserved only in Believers who were shunned and persecuted. . . _It makes me wonder what hope is left in the world of Men. For I hear from her that with the passing of the Elves, Men only quarrel more._

"My brother left a mission to discover the true identity of Strider," she said, catching my attention. "The secret of his true identity died a few generations back, and we have longed strived to recover it. However, my brother . . . He died, as did my father."

_So you don't know yet that you are the last heir to the throne?_ I studied the child. Her innocence was touching, in a way, the same way Aragorn's had been when his mother had taken him to Imladris for fostering.

"Do you know who Strider is?"

I considered it for a moment. Should I expose her true identity? Or keep her in ignorance to keep her safe until she was ready, the same way I had kept Aragorn in ignorance?

* * *

I apologize for the back and forth between the POVs, but there aren't that many other characters that I've introduced yet and I wanted to show their thoughts so . . . yeah. Sorry.


	7. Chapter 6

_**Chapter Six**_

~ _Estel _~  
As Lord Elrond studied me in silence, I felt a new hope suddenly rise in me. Lord Elrond was related to the Dúnedain and had many dealings with them. After all, I had learned that he had fostered Lord Aragorn himself. _Maybe_ he_ knows who Strider is!_

I posed the question to him, trying to keep my eagerness out of my tone.

Lord Elrond was silent for a moment longer, as if trying to decide something. Finally he shook his head. "I know only the true names of the Rangers, not the code names they go by when they travel," he said gently. "I cannot help you there."

I looked down. "Oh."

"But as a child of Arwen, you are welcome to stay in Imladris," Lord Elrond said suddenly, startling me. I stared at him.

He took my silence for surprise. "You can't think that I would send you back to slavery?" he exclaimed, his grey eyes flashing. "You are a child of my daughter and a child of my brother. No, Estel, you will stay and heal here in Imladris. No one will dare harm you here."

I tried to smile. "Thank you."

~ _Elrond_ ~  
"~You know, Elrond, I swear that mortals' children hold a special place in your heart,~" Glorfindel chuckled. I turned to my friend with a scowl.

"~Why do you say that?~"

"~Estel certainly has managed to capture your attention, just the way Aragorn did when he was little,~" he observed. "~You have all of Imladris wondering what's so special about the child. ~"

I sighed, slouching in my chair. I had wanted Estel to have plenty of time to heal and find peace, and Estel had obligingly kept close to me. She had expressed an interest in healing, and I was teaching her the same things I had taught my children.

"~Can you guess why? ~" I asked, hoping that no one had stumbled across Estel's secret.

"~Easy. She's a living image of Aragorn. ~"

"~That's one of the reasons, but not the main one. ~"

"~Really? Maybe you _do_ have a soft spot for mortal children! ~"

"~Glorfindel! ~"

"~All right, all right. No, I can't guess. ~"

I leaned forward. "~Try to keep your voice down, Glorfindel, ~" I said quietly. Glorfindel's eyes clouded with confusion, but he nodded.

"~The night she came here . . ." I relayed to Glorfindel what had happened. His eyes grew wider with each new revelation, and his jaw dropped when I revealed that she was from the future and also a descendant of Arwen and Aragorn.

"~Well . . . this certainly explains your interest in Estel, ~" Glorfindel remarked later. "~Are you planning to tell her anytime soon? ~"

"~I don't think that she is ready, ~" I said finally. "~She fears her past. She tries to embrace it, but she still thinks she's unworthy. Some part of her still mourns for her family. ~"

Glorfindel nodded, standing. "~She's a true embodiment of Aragorn, then. ~"

The door burst open suddenly. "~Estel, what is it? ~" I asked, concerned.

"~Arwen is back, ~" she answered, forgetting in her haste to refer to Arwen by title as she usually did. "~And she has Frodo with her. But he's been stabbed . . . and with a Morgul blade. ~"

I heard Glorfindel swear quietly under his breath, but Estel's eyes didn't move from me. "He still has the Ring, but if the stories were true, then the wound also has a fragment of the blade in it," she said rapidly.

I inhaled sharply. That was dangerous. A fragment of the blade would most likely continue burying deeper into the victim, trying to reach and pierce the heart.

"~Can it come out? ~" I asked, moving swiftly to her side.

Estel's eyes flashed. "~It must. He's the only one who can do it. ~"

I placed my hands on her shoulders. "~I'll tend to him, Estel. You prepare for the arrival of the others. No doubt they'll be worried. ~"

~ _Aragorn_ ~  
"How is Frodo?"

"Is he all right?"

"Will he live?"

I groaned, quickening my pace. I had known that the Hobbits would pester for information about Frodo, but I had hoped that they would wait a little longer to pester my foster father.

When I reached the scene, I stopped short.

Instead of the regal – and sometimes intimidating – figure of my foster father, a _young human woman_ was being accosted by the Hobbits. She had long dark hair and grey-blue eyes, and looked so much like one of the Dúnedain that I wondered if she was. But what would she be doing here? I had commanded no Rangers to go to Imladris.

"Please, please, one question at a time!" she begged, laughing and holding up her hands in a plea for mercy. "Frodo is recovering, and, yes, he will live. Lord Elrond is tending him now, and Gandalf as well."

Then she looked up and saw me.

~ _Estel_ ~  
I froze upon seeing Lord Aragorn. There was no mistaking him; Lord Elrond had described him perfectly. His dark brown hair hung limp and wet around his head, and calm pale blue eyes surveyed me calmly. A sword hung from his belt, and he also carried a bow and quiver.

"~Well met, Lord Aragorn,~" I greeted, inclining my head to the Man who would one day become the first King of the Reunited Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor as he drew near and stopped.

He looked startled. "~You speak Elvish?~"

I laughed, wondering if he would have asked the same question had known who I truly was. "~If I couldn't, I'd go crazy. These Elves don't speak anything else around here,~" I said. The Hobbits flashed us annoyed looks, but shuffled away, guessing – rightly – that they would get no more answers from us.

Lord Aragorn laughed. "~You're right there.~" He eyed me carefully. "~Who are you?~"

I hesitated, slightly offended by his greeting. But I got over it – he was the Chieftain of the Dúnedain, and was probably greeted almost everyone with caution. It did hurt slightly, but, then again, Lord Elrond had greeted my revelations with the same cautious probing.

And anyway, I had another issue brought up by this question. I couldn't tell him my true name; that would cause an uproar I wasn't ready to deal with, even if he might be the only one to know who exactly Strider was. "Elena."

His eyes narrowed. I could tell that he was trying to remember if there was someone called Elena in the Rangers. I decided to stop that search now.

~ _Aragorn_ ~  
_Elena._ Try as I might, I could recall no Ranger with that name. And it wasn't like there were a thousand of us to keep track of. I was the Chieftain, and had come to be familiar with almost all the Rangers in the over fifty years I'd been one of them.

Apparently my confusion showed on my face, for Elena said suddenly, "~I am not of the Dúnedain, no matter how much I look it.~"

I relaxed. Elrond would not have let just anyone enter Imladris, and if Elrond was comfortable with her here, so could I.

Elena smiled slightly before inclining her head and walking away. I watched her go. Something about her. . .

"~Welcome back, Estel!~"

I barely turned around in time before Elladan and Elrohir jumped on me, double blurs of Elf that squeezed the breath out of me. They released me, grinning, as I panted for air and rubbed my ribs.

I looked over my shoulder. Elena was gone.

"~Not you too,~" Elrohir said in an exasperated tone when I turned back to them.

I looked at him. "~What are you talking about?~" I asked.

"~Mithrandir brought her here,~" Elladan explained. "~Ada tended her wounds, and since then she's barely left his side.~"

"~I think we've gained yet another sibling,~" Elrohir said with a theatrical sigh. "~Yet another one to babysit and keep out of trouble!~"

"~Yes, but half the trouble you get into you cause,~" came Glorfindel's dry voice as the golden-haired Elf-lord appeared from a doorway.

Elladan and Elrohir violently protested, and soon the three Elves were arguing back and forth. I left them to it, and allowed my mind to wonder about Elena.


	8. Chapter 7

All right, things are going to start picking up now. For everyone who suffered through my horrendous first few chapters, thanks a bunch.

* * *

_**Chapter Seven**_

~ _Estel_ ~  
"You want me to _what_?" I gasped, staring at Lord Elrond.

He laughed at me. It was not the first laughter I'd coaxed out of him, but it was the first that I had not joined in. _I_ certainly wasn't finding this funny.

His laughter died down, and he reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "~I want you to come to the council, ~" he repeated.

"~But – But – But I have absolutely nothing to do with this! And I doubt that Denethorion will like seeing a woman in the Council of Elrond, ~" I added, remembering what I had learned about Boromir.

Lord Elrond's grey eyes hardened slightly. "~He is in Imladris now, not in Minas Tirith, ~" he said firmly. "~I told you, Estel – no one will harm you here. And I meant that. ~"

I looked down. "~I know. But still . . . ~"

"~And you have plenty to do with it, ~" Lord Elrond continued. "~You are only a descendant of both Elros and I because Aragorn succeeds in the quest brought up in this council. ~"

I sighed. "~As you wish, my lord, ~" I said, relenting.

He hugged me gently. "~You'll be fine, Estel, ~" he said reassuringly.

And so I found myself sitting between Mithrandir and Glorfindel, listening to the Council of Elrond. However, because of my worries, Lord Elrond had allowed me to be cloaked and hooded so as to conceal my identity. I ignored the pointed glances coming from the Mirkwood Elves at the breach of etiquette, and to distract myself, I allowed my gaze to travel across the people there.

_The seating arrangement clearly tells me what races are here,_ I thought, amused by the unconscious grouping of races that the races present had followed. Lord Elrond sat with Elladan and Elrohir sitting on either side of him, and to the left sat Aragorn and more Men. After the Men came the Dwarves, and then the Elves. And then me, and a wizard, and a Hobbit.

As my gaze traveled over the Men, Elves, and Dwarves, I wondered which of the people there were to become the members of the Fellowship. I knew that Boromir Denethorion, Legolas Thranduilion, and Gimli Glóin's son would join the Fellowship, and wondered which of the people where them. I had withheld this knowledge from Lord Elrond, acting on a guiding instinct that he didn't need to know those names yet. But I had warned him to keep a careful watch on Boromir.

When everyone was finally here, Lord Elrond stood. "Strangers from distant lands, friends of old," he greeted. His eyes flickered around the semi-circle, resting on me briefly. I fought the sudden urge to laugh. _Of course, I am neither. I am no stranger, yet neither am I a friend of old_, I thought, amused.

"You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor." I shivered slightly at the name. Even though I had been born in an Age where Mordor held no threat to me, the mere name itself seemed to carry connotations of evil.

"Middle-Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate – this one doom."

Lord Elrond then turned slowly to Frodo. He gestured shortly at the pedestal. "Bring forth the Ring, Frodo," he commanded.

The Hobbit rose slowly, and slowly placed the Ring down. I shivered again as the Ring whispered to me, squeezing my eyes shut. The Ring held no attraction to me, yet . . . yet it whispered so enticingly to me, so eagerly.

I saw myself throwing down the cruel stewards. I saw myself liberating the peoples of my country. I saw myself crowned as Queen of the Kingdoms of Gondor, Arnor, and Rohan, righting the wrongs wrought by the stewards.

_No._ I set my jaw as memories of what the Ring had brought about barged into my mind for others it had whispered to. It had been the death of High King Gil-galad, of Elendil, of Anárion, of Isildur, and so many countless others. It wanted to possess me now, and turn me into something else – something evil. It would cause heartache and lost innocence to so many more.

"In a dream, I saw the eastern sky grow dark." A voice jarred me from my internal struggles. I sat up straighter, uneasy, as the owner of the voice stood to address the Council. "But in the West a pale light lingered. A voice was crying: 'Your doom is near at hand. Isildur's Bane is found.'"

_Oh, no. . . _Only one person had brought up Isildur's Bane – Boromir, son of Denethor. I stared at him in dismay. Had the Ring truly began working on him at the Council of Elrond, here in the heart of Imladris?

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lord Elrond exchange a significant look with Mithrandir, but my eyes were focused solely on Boromir himself. I knew that, in the end, the Ring had managed to take over Boromir for a short while, and while I had hoped that Lord Elrond's power in Imladris would be enough to shield us all, I knew now that that wasn't the case. The One Ring had been forged to be stronger than even the Three Rings together, and although Vilya was the mightiest of the Three, alone it could not stand against the power of the One Ring.

Boromir's fingers hovered ever closer to the Ring. I stiffened. _Please, interfere!_ I silently begged Lord Elrond._ Don't let him_ –

Lord Elrond had apparently had enough. "Boromir!" he said, rising suddenly.

Mithrandir stood suddenly. "Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul." His voice was suddenly no longer the steady, mirth-filled voice of the Istari I had come to know, but suddenly harsh and dark. I shrank away from him.

The sky darkened as the voice thundered the words. Lord Elrond brought his hand up to his forehead as though he was getting a headache. Boromir backed away toward his seat, his face filled with fear and awe. The Elves murmured amongst themselves. I saw one of the blonde ones close his eyes and take a deep breath.

Lord Elrond turned to face Mithrandir as the words died away and the darkness slowly left. "Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris," he said, slowly letting his hand fall back down to his side as he sat back down.

"I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond, for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West," Mithrandir said, facing the Men and glaring. I knew of what he spoke. He was saying, in effect, that if the Men allowed themselves to be so easily conquered by the Ring, Mordor would rule Gondor and all those kingdoms in no time.

"The Ring is altogether evil." Giving Boromir one last scathing glance, Mithrandir turned to resume his seat. I silently applauded his speech. Much as I disliked Boromir, neither did I wish for him and his countrymen to fall under the control of the Ring. Mithrandir's speech might be just what Boromir needed to shock him out of the spell of the Ring.

"It is a gift. A gift to the foes of Mordor."

Or not. Apparently Boromir was not giving up without a fight. I bit my tongue, not trusting myself not to speak scathing words to this arrogant Man who believed himself better than even Mithrandir.

"Why not use this Ring?" he asked, letting his gaze fall upon the Elves.

_Oh, let's think,_ I thought sarcastically. _Maybe because it's got the blood of thousands on it. Or maybe because it makes people do things they wouldn't naturally do. Or maybe because it's downright _evil_! Is that a good enough reason?_

"Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of _our_ people are your lands kept safe!"

_Oh, really? So you're telling me that Imladris and __Lothl__órien are only safe because of the vigilance of _Men_? Hah! I bet you don't even know what __Lothl__órien is, much less _where_ it is, in order to "defend" it!_

"Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy."

_Over my dead body. If all of Gondor is as conceited as you, it's no wonder that Sauron pays you little heed as an enemy._ Another thought then struck me with the force of a hurricane. _And it would be no wonder that the stewards could so easily turn the common people against the Believers._ Sadness welled up in me at that thought, but before I could really absorb and dwell on it, Boromir's next words inflamed the criticizing, impatient person within me.

"Let us use it against him!"

_How? You can't even sit here without falling under its spell, much less put it on._ My patience with Boromir was gone, as was my former sadness for my home. _Oh, please, please,_ please_, someone tell him to shut it!_ I begged silently. Thankfully, my request was granted moments after I thought it.

By Aragorn.

"You cannot wield it!" he objected, drawing Boromir's attention. "None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master." Aragorn's voice was calm, but it had a ring of passion to it that was somehow stronger than the ring in Boromir's had been.

Boromir turned to face Aragorn with an air of superiority. This air was reflected in his question. "And what would a Ranger know of this matter?" he asked, showing his disdain for Aragorn so openly that I longed to smack him on the head. It was all I could do not to shout that Aragorn was heir to the throne of Gondor, and was so much higher than Boromir.

But, thankfully, I didn't have to do it. Someone else did it for me. One of the blonde Elves from Mirkwood shot up from his seat at Boromir's words. "This is no mere Ranger," he said curtly, drawing Boromir's attention. The Elf's tone turned soft and reverent. "He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."

Boromir slowly turned back to face Aragorn, shock clear in his face. "Aragorn? _This_ is Isildur's heir?"

_Oh, you . . . Don't you get it? He's your _king_! Quit it with the superior air!_ I wanted to shout the words in his face, but restrained myself. If Aragorn could bear the words, then so could I.

But the Elf wasn't done. "And heir to the throne of Gondor," he concluded.

The effect was instantaneous. Frodo looked wide-eyed at his rescuer as murmurs spread through the Council. But Boromir wasn't as impressed. His glare shot daggers at Aragorn, who ignored him and looked past him to the Elf. "~Sit down, Legolas, ~" he said softly, gesturing with his hand.

Now it was my turn to stare at someone. I had known that the Prince of Mirkwood had been close to Aragorn, but I hadn't realized that they were that close! But my surprise soon turned to satisfaction. _Aragorn is definitely a king. He draws more loyalty than _you_,_ I thought in satisfaction.

"Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king." Boromir returned to his seat, but not without having lost my respect completely. Glorfindel rested his hand on mine.

"~Relax, Estel, ~" he counseled quietly. "~Boromir can't do anything to Aragorn. ~"

I shot him a thankful glance before returning my attention to Lord Elrond, who had stood up once more. "You have only one choice," he announced, leaving us in suspense. "The Ring must be destroyed."

Boromir leaned against his chair with an exasperated air as murmurs spread throughout the Council once more. But apparently this time their patience had been worn thin.

"Then what are we waiting for?" one of the Dwarves growled. He stood, grabbing an axe.

Everything seemed to slow down at once. Lord Elrond, starting forward in warning. Mithrandir, reaching out a hand also in warning. Then the Dwarf slammed his axe down on the Ring.

The axe exploded in shards as the unfortunate Dwarf was hurled back in the air, landing with a groan of surprise. Dwarves stood in dismay, hurrying to help their downed kinsman.

Lord Elrond remained calm. "The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Glóin, by any craft that we here possess."

I surveyed the Dwarf with surprise. _It appears I'm to meet everyone who is to join the Fellowship. It's a pity that we aren't being introduced the polite, normal, _safe_ way that doesn't have people glaring daggers at each other._

"The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you . . . must do this."

Dead silence reigned in the Council.

~ _Boromir_ ~  
"One does not simply walk into Mordor," I said shakily, drawing the Council's attention back to me. "Its black gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. And the great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly."

The Elf from before rose again. "Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said? The Ring must be destroyed!"

The Dwarf who had foolishly tried to destroy the Ring leaped up as well. "I suppose you think you're the one to do it?" he demanded.

I ignored the Dwarf. Before, the Elf had won our argument. He would not win this one. "And if we fail, what then? What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?"

"_Enough!_"


	9. Chapter 8

_**Chapter Eight**_

~ _Boromir_ ~  
"_Enough!_"

A cold, commanding voice cut through the tension. We all stopped arguing to see a lone, cloaked figure rise. "_This_ is why the Ring must be destroyed," said the person. The tone brooked no argument. It startled me how commanding the voice was, to silence three arguing people in a matter of seconds. "All you can do is argue and bicker amongst yourselves when it is brought before you. How can you defeat Sauron if all you do is fight?"

"Who are you?" I demanded, finished with politeness and formality.

The figure reached up and pushed down the hood. In that moment, my eyes widened with the most surprise I'd felt that day. For there was a woman. Dark brown hair cascaded down her back and over her shoulders. Steely grey-blue eyes challenged me, possessed of an inner fire that startled me. I'd never met a woman with such force in her personality.

It was actually very . . . attractive.

But then the woman turned her attention to the Dwarf. "In answer to you, Dwarf, no. All races will help with the destruction of the Ring, not one. And the Ring has already chosen its bearer. Now, of course, the question becomes – can you all tolerate the blow to your dignity? Can you actually bear to work _with_ each other, or would you rather rip each other to shreds and do Sauron a favor?"

Lord Elrond gestured shortly to her, but his expression was devoid of emotion. "Sit down, Elena," he said softly. But his tone carried an authority that even she did not challenge.

The woman sat, inclining her head respectively toward the Elf-lord. Lord Elrond returned to gazing at each of us in turn, challenging us to see which of us would be brave enough to take on the challenge of bearing the Ring.

"I will take it."

The Hobbit from before suddenly stood. "I will take the Ring to Mordor." Then embarrassment seemed to catch up with him, and he looked down, saying shyly, "Although . . . I do not know the way."

The wizard stood slowly and went to stand behind him. "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear."

The Ranger that was Isildur's heir also stood. "If by my life or death I can protect you, I will," he vowed. "You have my sword."

The Elf strode over. "And you have my bow."

The Dwarf. "And my axe."

I stood. "You carry the fates of us all, little one. If this is indeed the will of the Council . . . then Gondor will see it done."

Three more of the Hobbits then joined the Fellowship. I forced down a smile. I highly doubted that the Hobbits would be of too much use, but, ah, what was the point in pointing that out?

Then, to my joy, the woman rose slowly. "Well, Peregrin Took, if you feel that intelligence is needed, then I believe I should join you. You males sometimes need someone to knock common sense in your head, as this Council probably was a good example of such a situation."

~ _Mithrandir_ ~  
I stared at Elrond. "Elrond, you can't be serious?" I stammered, amazed. "_You're letting her go with us?_"

Elrond eyed me calmly, leaning back in his chair. He had not yet changed out of his robes, and looked every inch the Lord of Imladris. "You disagree?" he asked calmly.

"She's still a child!"

"But an able one. And she has a point. Someone may need to knock some sense into the heads of the others."

"Thank you for the compliment," I said dryly, momentarily distracted by his words. "I am glad that my head is counted among those free to be knocked on."

Then I returned to my earlier argument. "Elrond, what's wrong with you? Why have you suddenly changed your mind? Only a few days ago you barely let Estel out of your sight. Now you're allowing her to go tramping of on a quest that will probably take her into the heart of Mordor itself!"

"Well, to address one thing at a time: no, I have not gone crazy. And no, I have not suddenly changed my mind. I had in mind for her to go along ever since I learned the truth about her. Yes, I barely let her out of my sight, but that was because I wanted to make sure that her soul would heal from the damage it has sustained. As for the quest, I doubt that it will in its entirety go to Mordor."

"How do you know this?" I felt a sense of déjà vu. I had, after all, just had a similar experience with Saruman.

Elrond sighed. "I haven't told you yet, have I?" Then he proceeded to explain who Estel was in terms of where she was from and who was descended from.

By the end, I was certain that if this year continued in the same fashion, I'd stop being able to feel surprise. "First we find the One Ring after 2,500 years of searching, then I find that Saruman has betrayed us, and now I find that the Valar have sent someone from our future back to help," I remarked. "At this rate I'll stop feeling surprise."

Elrond chuckled. "You might feel even more yet. Estel has the Elessar. She says that she got it when her grandmother, Lady Galadriel, died. Her father was called Lord Elessar of Gondor, and her older brother Eldarion. And her sister's name was Tinúviel."

"All Elven names," I observed, partially distracted and intrigued. But then I got back to business. "But this makes me want her on this quest even less, Elrond. It's bad enough that Aragorn is going; must we also have another heir go as well? Estel has already experienced so much heartache and damage to her _fëa_."

"She needs to find herself," Elrond said quietly. "Estel doubts herself. And she doesn't yet know that Strider and Aragorn are one and the same."

"Ah. I see. Well, then, I suppose I can tolerate her presence."

"One more thing, Mithrandir," Elrond called as I turned away. I turned back. Cold fire burned in Elrond's grey eyes.

"Make sure that Estel is returned to me safely," he said softly, but steel was in his voice.

I may have been a Maia, but I knew without question that Elrond meant what he said.

"Of course," I assured the Elf-lord.

~ _Estel_ ~  
I threw my arms around the Elf-lord. "Thank you!" I cried. I had thought that he was coming to tell me off for speaking up in the Council, but it seemed that he merely was coming to offer his approval.

Lord Elrond appeared startled by my reaction, and I let go, blushing furiously. Then he laughed softly. "You're very welcome, Estel, although know that I didn't consider for a moment stopping you," he said, his tone warm. "You're a grown woman by the standards of Men, and you're quite old enough to make your own decisions."

He sat down. "Anyway, that was not the reason I came. Here." Lord Elrond drew out a dagger and passed it to me.

I took it, admiring the fancy Elvish lettering. "Thank you," I murmured.

"It served me well during the Second Age," Lord Elrond said. "It saved my life once. Hopefully it can safeguard you as well."

I smiled, tying the dagger onto the belt at my waist. "You amaze me with your generosity, Lord Elrond, as always," I said, bowing my head to him.

He captured me in a tight embrace. "Then come home safe, and you'll repay me three times over," he replied.


	10. Chapter 9

_**Chapter Nine**_

~ _Boromir_ ~  
I wandered among the books, amazed at how many paintings there were of the Last Alliance. Then I came an abrupt stop. For there, pulling a book off the shelf, was the outspoken woman from the Council. She was clad in a conservative, short-sleeved gown of dark blue. Her long dark hair spilled down her back, and the moonlight streaming in through the window gleamed in the coils of her hair. Her figure was poised and perfectly balanced. Her gown was conservative, but the light highlighted her beauty. Gone was the cloak and gone was her air of disdain and authority and gone was her commanding tone, yet all seemed to add to the mystery swirling around her. It was hard for me to imagine such a woman as her, one who could show the both the natural authority of men and the soft side of women.

_She would make an interesting wife_, I thought, edging closer as silently as I knew how.

"What is your name?" The question sprang out before I could stop myself. She was so much like a wraith or a dream that I feared that she would suddenly disappear and leave me behind.

The woman started, whirling around. Her hair flew around her in a dark halo that was even more endearing. "Boromir of Minas Tirith," she said, her tone politely cool.

"Your name?" I persisted.

"I am called Elena," she answered, her grey-blue eyes wary.

I bowed, not commenting on her deliberate leaving out of her father's name. "I am sorry for my harsh words at the Council, my lady. I just . . . I just feel strongly that the Ring should go Gondor," I said. "It would be safe there."

Elena sighed, replacing the book. "I know. I believe you made this belief of yours quite clear where Isildur's Bane is concerned. But it is not this desire that I dislike. It is your attack on your own king that makes me doubt you."

I blinked. "I was not aware of his true identity then," I protested, stunned at how much she knew. Most women were not aware of what it meant when we spoke of "Isildur's heir", much less "Isildur's Bane". _What else does she know?_

"Are not you the steward's son? A superior should always treat his fellows with respect, even those he does not agree with."

"I have never have been one for diplomacy," I admitted.

Elena laughed softly. The sound was pure music to my ears. "I know," she said in a slightly amused tone. "Warriors are rarely diplomats, even among the Elves. Come to think of it, I have problems with diplomacy too."

"Yes, I believe we saw an example of that in the Council," a voice remarked dryly.

Elena turned suddenly, and my heart dropped as Lord Elrond himself approached. "I was looking for you," the Elf-lord said, his eyes settling on Elena with a paternal air. He looked around us with a slightly startled air – if that was possible for an Elf-lord to convey. "I'm surprised to find you here, though."

Elena laughed again, but the laughter was not soft now. It was like a combination of the quiet beauty of a delicate rose and the amazing power of a waterfall, and it was the most glorious laugher I'd ever heard. "I know. Elros was always more prone to fight, wasn't he?"

I frowned. _Elros? Is this Elros her father?_

"Without a doubt. And you take after him so much that it's scary." The Elf-lord's tone was amused, and I even dared to think for a moment that his mouth had twitched into a faint, momentary smile. _So this Elros was known to Lord Elrond, then?_

"I'll try to be more like you, my lord," she assured him, returning his smile. Then she turned to face me. "Excuse me, Lord Boromir."

"Of course."

As the two left, I noticed Lord Elrond putting his hand on her shoulder. She didn't stop him, too preoccupied with saying something merrily to him. Elena was no Elf; that much I knew. And Lord Elrond was said to be one of the most powerful Elf-lords of all Middle-earth. Why would he take interest in a mere mortal?

_Elena, daughter of Elros_, I thought to myself, passing by more glorious paintings yet not heeding them a single second glance. Elena was a far more interesting puzzle to gaze at than a still portrait. _Elena, daughter of Elros, you are one mystery I shall enjoy figuring out from the beginning, which is now, until the end._

~ _Aragorn_ ~  
As the Fellowship left, I turned back for one last glimpse of Arwen. I couldn't stop myself, even though I knew that I had told her that would not be returning. Arwen met my eyes sadly. I inclined my head sorrowfully and respectively before turning away.

It was then that I noticed that I hadn't been the only person to look back one last time. Elena stood there as well, just turning away. I glanced quickly over my shoulder to find Lord Elrond's eyes on her. His eyes were filled with sadness.

"Aragorn? Are you coming?"

Elena's soft voice snapped me out of my reverie. "Yes, I'm coming," I answered. I surveyed her quietly. _Why does Lord Elrond dwell over her so?_

~ _Estel_ ~  
I gazed up at the sky. We had only been gone a week from Imladris, yet already I missed it. I missed Glorfindel's gentle teasing, the antics of the twins, the pure beauty of Imladris itself and the comfort it had offered. But most of all I found that I missed Lord Elrond. He'd become, in that short while, a father to me, the father I'd lost and never regained.

"Estel? Are you all right?"

I jumped in surprise. Lord Elrond and Lord Glorfindel were the only ones who knew my true name, so who was this?

Then I relaxed as Mithrandir sat beside me. "~So, Lord Elrond told you? ~" I asked quietly. I had switched to Elvish and lowered my voice, but really I didn't have to. The whole camp was asleep, even Aragorn and Legolas. But I wasn't willing to take chances.

If Aragorn and Legolas did, by any chance, overhear, I could trust them with my secrets. By story and by their actions, I knew them to be pure of heart and noble. They wouldn't harm me.

"~Yes, ~" Mithrandir said neutrally, switching obligingly to Elvish as well. He looked sideways at me. "~And he also threatened me with dismemberment should you not be returned to him in one whole piece, too. ~"

I couldn't help myself; I laughed. "What?" I choked out. I couldn't imagine Lord Elrond dismembering anyone, and I definitely couldn't imagine Mithrandir dismembered.

Mithrandir chuckled. "~You've certainly managed to capture him, my dear, ~" he said fondly. "~Even Aragorn didn't win him over so quickly. It's not often that Elrond takes a mortal under his wing, but now he has – twice over in the last century alone. ~"

I blushed. "~It's because he says that I remind him of Elros, ~" I muttered.

"~You do, ~" Mithrandir said dryly. "~Elros got Elrond into trouble so many times I'm surprised that the two managed to live through the downfall of Morgoth. Those two were such troublemakers! And Elladan and Elrohir have picked up the same traits. ~"

I giggled. "~I know. I saw some of their antics firsthand. I think that image of Glorfindel running down the hallway roaring at them is forever scarred into my brain. ~"

Mithrandir laughed. "~So you saw that too, huh? ~" Then he became serious. "~Seriously, Estel, I don't want to face Elrond's wrath when we return. Do us all a favor, all right? Stay close to Aragorn, Legolas, and me during this quest. ~"

I nodded. "~I have no other intention, Olórin, ~" I replied, enjoying the surprise on the Maia's face.

~ _Legolas_ ~  
I was awoken by the sound of stifled laughter. I jerked upright in surprise before relaxing. Mithrandir had risen and had apparently said something very funny to the woman. I squinted at her. I still hadn't learned her name, even though she interrupted the Council and broken up the three-way argument.

"~I know, ~" she said, giggling. "~I saw some of their antics firsthand. I think that image of Glorfindel running down the hallway roaring at them is forever scarred in my brain. ~"

Mithrandir chuckled. "~So you saw that too, huh? ~" Then the laughter died away, and Mithrandir leaned closer to her, his expression serious and his voice low. "~Seriously, Estel, I don't want to face Elrond's wrath when we return. Do us all a favor, all right? Stay close to Aragorn, Legolas, and me during this quest.~"

"~I have no other intention, Olórin,~" she said quietly.

Mithrandir shook his head in exasperation and went back to bed. Estel tilted her head to look at the stars again. I decided to have a little talk with her.

'Estel' had, after all, been also the name by which Aragorn had been known when he had been fostered in Imladris, yet I was certain that Lord Elrond hadn't taken another fosterling. But it wasn't just any mortal that would have Elrond threatening Mithrandir for, and not any old mortal who would call Mithrandir by a name of a Maia.

I moved silently towards her and draped a blanket over her shoulders. She jumped, startled. "By the Valar, between you and Mithrandir and Aragorn my heart will stop," she complained teasingly.

I laughed. "It's not my fault you mortals can't be as silent as the Eldar and the Dúnedain," I retorted, sitting down next to her.

The smile faded of her face. "Anyway, why are you up, Your Majesty?" she asked.

I looked up, startled. I had not announced who I was. Only Aragorn and Mithrandir knew my identity as Prince of Mirkwood.

Or so I had thought.

"How do you know who I am?" I asked.

Estel laughed again. "Easy. There's only one Legolas of Mirkwood, and it's Legolas Thranduilion, the Prince," she answered easily. "And you haven't answered _my_ question."

"Easy," I mocked. She glared at me, and I ignored her. "I am wondering why a normal young girl like you would have Lord Elrond on Mithrandir's back, and why a normal young girl like you would carry an Elven name and speak Elvish."

"~Who says I'm a normal young girl?~"

I found myself staring at Estel. Just something about the way she had said that was . . . disconcerting. It reminded me of . . . _She reminds me of Aragorn_, I realized.

Estel seemed to realize her mistake. "Anyway, Estel is not my real name. It's just my nickname. Elena is my real name. Sorry if I confused you."

"It's all right," I murmured. I watched her for a few seconds longer. Yes, she did indeed remind me of Aragorn – the long dark hair that gleamed in the moonlight, the powerful grey-blue eyes, the graceful body that seemed to possess the grace of the Eldar and the strength of Men.

I put my hand on her shoulder. "I'll take over the watch now. Get some sleep."


	11. Chapter 10

_**Chapter Ten**_

~ _Boromir_ ~  
"Nothing, it's just a wisp of cloud," Gimli said dismissively.

"It's moving fast. . . Against the wind," I murmured absentmindedly.

"Crebain!" Elena suddenly yelped, jumping off the rock. Legolas's warning cry came split seconds afterward: "Crebain from Dunland!"

The next moment, everyone was running around. I heard Aragorn shout, "Hide!"

We all ran for cover, trying to ease all the marks we had left. I saw one of the Hobbits snatch up some gear. Aragorn dove under some rocks with Frodo. Legolas ran behind some bushes as the wizard ducked under a rock.

The birds shrieked as they passed us. I glared at them, annoyed that they had interrupted my sparring. I had noticed Elena looking wistfully our way a few times, and had been wondering if I should go over and ask her if she wanted to learn.

When finally they were all past, I pushed myself out from my hiding spot. My first thought was for Elena. Then I felt sweet relief as I saw Legolas help her up. She was unharmed and seemed slightly startled but otherwise alright.

That relief quickly turned to jealously as she gave the Elf a brief smile, leaning against him trustingly. Why had the Elf been the one to win a smile out of her? He would only hurt her. Elves were immortal, and never had immortals tied themselves to mortals.

"Boromir? Are you all right?" I turned to see Elena watching me with a puzzled expression on her face. Other members of the Fellowship were already moving, but she had stayed behind – to make I was okay.

My heart rose. Maybe I would win her after all.

~ _Estel_ ~  
_Curse this – this Pass of Caradhas!_ I thought furiously as I slipped on the wet snow yet again. Legolas grabbed my arm, preventing a fateful fall. I flashed the Prince a grateful smile. It had been the second time he had helped me so. First he had pulled me into cover when the crebain had appeared, and now he prevented me from falling.

"Frodo!"

I recognized Aragorn's voice at once and whirled around just in time to see Aragorn stop Frodo's fall and help the Hobbit to his feet. I tensed when I saw Boromir slowly lean over and pick something up.

"Oh, no . . ."

I looked sharply at Legolas. His handsome face was expressionless, but I could see the worry in his normally calm blue eyes. His hand on my shoulder tightened.

I looked at it with surprise. I had forgotten that it was there.

Legolas made to stride forward. I stopped him. "~Let Aragorn deal with this,~" I said softly. He looked at me, his internal struggle clear in his eyes. On one hand, he trusted Aragorn to be capable. On the other, he also wanted to protect him.

"~Just trust him,~" I pleaded. That seemed to end the conflict, and Legolas squeezed my shoulder gently as the fire in his blue eyes subsided somewhat.

And just in time.

"Boromir!" Aragorn's voice cut through whatever trance the Ring had cast over Boromir. "Give the Ring to Frodo."

Boromir hesitated, and Legolas tensed again. But the former merely said, "As you wish." Frodo snatched the Ring from him at once. "I care not," Boromir concluded.

He ruffled Frodo's windswept hair, trying to lighten the tense air. But I saw Aragorn give Boromir a dark look before releasing his sword.

_Oh, please let Boromir survive until we are in Lothlórien_, I prayed. _Let him escape unscathed._

~ _Legolas_ ~  
"Dwarf doors are invisible when closed," Gimli said, banging his axe against the wall. I winced. My hearing was better than anyone else's in this group, and the sound of the axe clashing with the wall wasn't exactly pleasant.

"Yes, Gimli, their own masters cannot find them, if their secrets are forgotten," Mithrandir added absentmindedly, running his hand over the wall.

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" I muttered quietly.

Elena smacked me lightly on the arm. "Legolas," she scolded. "~Keep your comments to yourself.~"

I stared at her, unrepentant. "~Or I could insult the race of Men,~" I suggested. "~Do you wish for that?~"

Elena gave a theatrical sigh. "~Oh, Aragorn, I don't know how you deal with him,~" she complained, shoving me teasingly. "~Prissy Elf.~"

"~Annoying human,~" I returned, shoving her back lightly.

"~Oh, hush, you two,~" Aragorn interrupted, shooting us both warning glances. Elena gave him an innocent smile, which I mirrored. He didn't buy either. "~Let Mithrandir concentrate.~"

Mithrandir spoke loudly then, silencing the argument I had been sure was coming. "It reads 'The Doors of Durin – Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter.'"

"What do you suppose that means?" one of the Hobbits wondered aloud.

"It means that if you're a friend, you speak the password and enter," Elena answered. "Now hush. Let him concentrate."

Mithrandir began to speak, but I pushed him out of my mind when my senses tingled. I looked sharply over the lake. Something about it bothered me. . .

"Nothing's happening," the Hobbit was saying when I returned my attention to the conversation at hand. "What are you going to do, then?"

Mithrandir finally snapped. "Knock your head against these doors, Peregrin Took!" he said angrily, obviously annoyed. "And if that does not shatter them, and I am allowed a little peace from foolish questions, I will try to find the opening words."

~ _Estel_ ~  
I leaned against the wall, watching Mithrandir struggle to open the doors. I closed my eyes with a sigh. I hadn't realized how taxing this quest would be. I thanked the Valar that I was already used to hard labor from being a slave for eighteen years, but the quest was more than physically taxing.

I longed to ask Aragorn if he knew a Ranger called Strider, but always had something interrupted. And I wasn't sure if I had the courage to address the future King.

And my emotions were even more stretched by Boromir. He had begun acting . . . odd lately around me. More than once I had looked up to find his gaze on me. My dislike of him had begun when he had attacked Aragorn in the Council, and now fear was creeping into my veins as well.

Legolas suddenly stiffened beside me. I opened my eyes, glancing at him in confusion. Then I realized that the water was moving. I leaned forward, squinting.

"It's a riddle," Frodo said suddenly, leaping up. "'Speak 'friend' and enter.' What's the Elvish word for 'friend'?"

"_Mellon_," Mithrandir answered.

The doors slowly moved open. I saw Legolas wince slightly as rock grated on rock, and smiled sadly in sympathy. The noise wasn't pleasant for me, either, and the poor Elf's ears were probably more attuned to the sound than me.

Slowly, one by one, we entered. "Soon, Master Elf, you will experience the fabled hospitality of the Dwarves," Gimli was boasting. "Roaring fires, malt beer, ripe meat off the bone. This, my friend, is the home of my cousin, Balin."

I followed warily beside Legolas. Something was . . . off about this place. It felt . . . wrong . . . raw, as we were intruding on something. Mithrandir cupped his hand around the top of his staff, and suddenly a small crystal nestled there gave off some light.

"And they call it a mine. A mine!" Gimli sounded almost drunk with anticipation.

"This is no mine," Boromir said suddenly. "It's a tomb."

Just then the light from Mithrandir's crystal fell on the decayed bodies of Dwarves. One after another was highlighted, all with arrows sticking out of them. I gasped in dismay, taking a fearful step backward.

Gimli rushed to the nearest body, wailing. "No! Nooo!"

Legolas suddenly knelt down and snatched an arrow out of a dead Dwarf. He examined it for a few seconds before casting it away in disgust. "Goblins!" he warned.

Aragorn drew his sword at once. Legolas pushed me back behind him before drawing out an arrow. Boromir was quick to follow suit.

"We make for the Gap of Rohan. We should never have come here," he said. His eyes darted to me for a moment. In them I saw anger and fear.

Fear. _Fear for what?_ I thought, setting a hand on the concealed dagger Lord Elrond had given me. I knew a little of self-defense, but never had I been tested in it. No slave was allowed to lash out at a master.

"Now get out of here. Get out!"

Suddenly, it sounded like the whole lake had exploded. I whirled around just in time to see a huge tentacle seize one of the Hobbits.

"Frodo!" the others shouted.

"Strider!"

My head whipped around. _Strider? _Strider_ came on this quest?_

Aragorn's head whipped around at the name, and in a flash he had ran out to the Hobbits. Boromir followed, and the two Men raced into the waters, throwing themselves at any tentacle unfortunate enough to be in their path. Legolas aimed his bow, sending a few arrows into the dizzying array of tentacles.

I stood in a daze as Frodo finally fell back down into Boromir's arms. Legolas sent another arrow straight into the beast's eye, and Mithrandir urged everyone back into the mine.

I was glad when darkness fell. I didn't hear Mithrandir talking, didn't even see him. I didn't see Legolas grimace at the notion of traveling underground. I didn't see Boromir look at the Hobbits.

All my focus was on Aragorn. Aragorn. . . . Strider.


	12. Chapter 11

_**Chapter Eleven**_

~ _Estel_ ~  
I held back my questions as we trekked through Moria, trying to calm myself. For so long had the Believers sought the true identity of Strider, and now I knew – Strider and Aragorn were one and the same.

The wonder of it flooded my mind. Now I knew for certain that I was the heir to the Believers, for from Strider my line carried the blood of the Kings of Númenor.

But then another thought barged in. Aragorn had been fostered in Lord Elrond's house, and had been friends with Mithrandir and Glorfindel for many years. In short, they had had to know what I meant when I had said that I was descended from Strider.

_That must have been why Lord Elrond had taken me under his wing_, I realized. _Not only was I a descendant of his daughter, but also of a descendant of a descendant of his brother, Elros._ And it would explain my physical similarities to Aragorn.

That night, when Mithrandir was on watch but everyone else asleep, I rose and made my way to his side. I sat down quietly, trying to think of how to ask him for confirmation.

"So you know now who Strider really is?" Mithrandir asked.

"You knew," I said, trying to keep the accusation out of my tone. "You knew, and Lord Elrond knew. Why didn't you tell me?"

Mithrandir sighed. "Elrond acted in the same fashion he had acted with Aragorn," he explained gently. "He believed that you weren't ready to know. It would have placed yet another burden on your already burdened shoulders. He wanted your _fëa_ to be healed first before he laid the burden of your history on your shoulders."

I looked down. The explanation made sense, but still the revelation rocked me. I was with one of my ancestors who was reputedly a legend, a myth, a fantasy in the Age I'd grown up in a quest decide the fate of all of Middle-earth.

The thought scared me.

~ _Aragorn_ ~  
I watched as Elena said something soothingly to Sam before making her way over to her own bedroll. Something had changed between us. In the beginning, Elena had been shy, slightly intimidated by the heir of Isildur. But slowly our relationship had warmed, and she had dropped the title, addressing me as Legolas and the others did.

But now . . . now she almost . . . _avoided_ me.

"She's certainly a mystery, isn't she?" Mithrandir said suddenly from his position next to me.

I glanced at him quizzically before making my way over to sit next to him. "You know something about her." It was not a question. Mithrandir had always been close in the counsels of my foster father, and I knew that it had been the wizard who had found and brought Elena to Imladris.

He gave me a weary smile. "Sometimes, more than I wish to know," he said mysteriously. Then the mystery faded from his eyes, and he said sternly, "Aragorn, I want you to promise me something."

I glanced at the wizard, concerned. "What is it? What's wrong?" I asked.

Mithrandir hesitated. "I want you to promise me that that when this quest is over, you'll make sure Estel is safely delivered back to Imladris and Elrond."

"Estel?" Now confusion was taking over me. "_I'm_ Estel."

Mithrandir shook his head. "Not anymore." He nodded to the sleeping figure of Elena. "Elena is not her true name, as she has led you to believe. Estel is."

"Estel. . . Why? What is she the hope of or for?"

"She is the hope of all of her people," Mithrandir answered sadly. "Her full name is Estel Elessariel, a daughter of Gondor in whose veins run the combined bloodlines of all four children of Elros, the combined bloodlines of the _Peredhil_, and the blood of the kings of Rohan."

I stared at him, shocked. "Daughter of Elessar?" I repeated numbly. _My daughter?_

Mithrandir chuckled quietly. "Ah, you and your father. One and alike, you two. Elrond was visibly shocked too." Then his face became serious once more. "No, she is not _your_ daughter."

"Then . . . whose daughter is she?"

Mithrandir looked away, taking a deep breath. "Do not speak of this to anyone else without her permission," he requested. "The Valar sent Estel to us. She's from far in the Fourth Age of Middle-earth . . . the future."

He then proceeded to explain how Estel had been a slave, how she had been pressed into marriage against her will and then forced on. And later, when the resulting son had died, how Estel had been gravely wounded and beaten by her master.

"How dare he!" I spat. Rage ignited in my chest. "How dare he wound her so?"

Mithrandir eyed me calmly. "He did not know of her true ancestry." He then told me of Estel's affiliation with a secret organization called the Believers, and how they had maintained the ancient bloodlines of Kings for generation after generation.

"So they were similar to the Dúnedain and the _Elendili_?" I asked.

"Yes. Finally, with the last generation, Estel's grandmother, whom the Believers called Galadriel, was the leader. When the stewards stopped openly persecuting them, she decided to take the chance. She converted her son, grandson, and granddaughter, but did not tell Estel. She was much too young and too precious, Galadriel thought, to risk. Her own son she called Elessar, and she gifted to him the Ring of Barahir, which he in turn passed on to his son – Estel's brother. The Evenstar pendant, which you wear now, was given to Estel's sister. And the Elessar Galadriel gave to Estel when she died as proof that the things the Believers believed were true. Those were the three heirlooms the Believers managed to save from the stewards."

When finally the whole tale was told, my mind was swimming with the overload of information. _One moment she's just a mortal; now she's revealed to me to be my descendant, and one with a past even more tortured than mine. No wonder Elrond took to her so quickly._

I raised my gaze back up to Mithrandir's just in time to hear him repeat, "So, will you now make the promise?"

"What promise?"

"Your father declared that if Estel wasn't returned to him in one whole unharmed piece, he'd dismember me," Mithrandir said dryly. "It would be much easier on me if you too were helping to protect her. She is, after all, in a way your daughter as well."

I looked back at Ele-Estel. _I have to get used to calling her Estel_, I thought ruefully. "I promise," I vowed.

~ _Estel_ ~  
I found myself barely able to sleep. The dark of night I could understand, and could tolerate. But this dark – this dark was completely unnatural, and completely unrelenting. I could see that it affected Legolas as well, but the Elf probably also concealed it better than I.

A warm hand descended on my shoulder. I looked up to see Aragorn. "Can't sleep?" he asked softly.

I shook my head. _This is . . . awkward_, I thought. _I'm talking to a person that I have raised my whole life to think a legend and a myth when in reality he's just been dead for, like, centuries. And to top it all off, he's one of my ancestors!_

Aragorn nodded in sympathy. "The mines are of little comfort after Imladris for humans and Elves," he said.

"Yes," I agreed. I tilted my head upward. In Imladris, that motion would have let me see twinkling stars. I would have rested my head against cool grass and listened the quiet, comforting sounds of the Elven sanctuary.

But instead, here in Moria, all I saw was more darkness, all I felt was cold rock, and all I heard was the cold, dead sound of silence.

"Don't worry, Estel," Aragorn chided. "You'll see Imladris again soon."

I began to nod in mute agreement when the use of my true name registered suddenly. I gasped, spinning away, as the implications of that also registered within me.

Aragorn smiled gently. "Mithrandir told me," he offered softly.

I could only nod mutely. "Oh."

The smile faded. He reached out to touch my cheek. I tensed, and he withdrew, his face troubled. "He really abused you," he said, but it was more to himself than to me. "Estel, listen – no one will harm you here. You have the protection of Lord Elrond, of Mithrandir, . . . and of me. I swear to you, I will allow no harm to befall you."

I could see from his eyes that the vow was serious. He truly meant it. With a sigh, I allowed him to slip a warm arm around me and rested my head on his shoulder.

Soon I felt myself falling asleep. Aragorn laughed quietly in my ear, the breath stirring my hair. "Go to sleep, Estel."


	13. Chapter 12

_**Chapter Twelve**_

~ _Legolas_ ~  
I could see that something had once again changed between Elena and Aragorn. The two seemed more relaxed in each other's company, and overnight Aragorn had suddenly acquired a fierce protectiveness where Elena was concerned.

Like right now, for example.

Mithrandir had apparently forgotten the path now, and we waited for him to figure out which road we were to take. Aragorn, Elena, and Boromir sat together, and I stood by Aragorn's side. Elena's eyes were closed, and her head rested on Aragorn's shoulder. I could tell that she was exhausted, and her steady, quiet breathing told me that she was in a light sleep. I was surprised that Aragorn would tolerate such an open display, but he had merely smiled fondly at the girl.

I frowned slowly. It was rumored that Aragorn was in love with Arwen, Elrond's daughter, so why would he allow a woman to act thusly?

But as I studied the way the two sat, different revelations seemed to appear. Elena's relaxed posture indicated complete trust in Aragorn, whose body posture was such that he both supported and protected her. In fact, the way he sat indicated not love, but more a fatherly affection for the girl. And Elena's head on Aragorn's shoulder was not because she felt love for him, but rather a sort of . . . trust that he would protect her.

"Ah!" Mithrandir said suddenly. I looked over to him as he nodded toward one of the paths. "It's that way!"

~ _Aragorn_ ~  
I whirled around just in time to see Estel stumble over something. Instantly, I reached out and snatched her back from falling flat on her face. She gave me a grateful smile before scowling over her shoulder at the offending piece of rock she had tripped on.

I couldn't help but offer a small smile in return. She reminded me so much of myself when I had been younger that sometimes I just could not understand how I could not have seen the connection between us.

"I don't like this place," I heard Estel mutter under her breath.

I put my hand on her shoulder. "We're almost at the end," I reassured her. I saw Estel bite her lip. I knew that she didn't like it down in Moria. I could tell from her actions that she would rather be caged anew – as she had been as a slave – than be forced to dwell in the freedom in the darkness that was Moria.

I glanced around, and then leaned closer to Estel as if telling a secret. "To be honest, Estel, you won't be the only person who will be very relieved when we leave Moria," I told her quietly.

Estel took a deep breath. "Thank you," she said. "Sorry for moping."

I smiled. "It's all right," I replied at once. "You're the youngest one here, Estel. No one expects you to behave perfectly."

Estel scowled at when I mentioned her being the youngest. "Age means nothing."

I raised an eyebrow and opened my mouth.

"Don't even go there, Aragorn Arathornion," she snapped, her thankful tone – and fear – dissolving to be replaced by a feistier one. "Just because you are at the prime of your life doesn't mean we all are."

I smiled innocently. "Isn't that exactly what I said?" I asked pointedly.

Estel glared at me, but the glare melted away as my point got across to her. I hugged her briefly. "Relax, Estel. You'll be fine."

"Gimli!" I looked up just in time to see the Dwarf in question sprint away from the group.

~ _Boromir_ ~  
I halted just in front of the gap. I had learned my lesson with the other gap, where I had nearly fallen over if Legolas hadn't seized me and yanked me back. Legolas leaped across the gap first. The Elf's natural abilities allowed him to land easily on the other side. I eyed the gap dubiously. We weren't all Elves, and it was like Legolas could ferry us back and forth. How were we supposed to cross?

The Elf gestured to Gandalf. "Gandalf," he said, his voice barely heard above the rumble of whatever was coming.

The wizard hesitated for a moment before jumping. He landed safely. Arrows began to fall all around us. I saw Legolas whirl around and begin to return fire.

Not stopping to think, which would probably result in my common sense overcoming my thinking to jump, I snatched up Merry and Pippin and leaped across with a shout. Aragorn tossed Sam over next, but Gimli jumped himself – and had to be pulled up by the beard by the Elf.

I looked across the gap. Only three remained on the other side – Aragorn, Frodo, and Elena. I felt the urge to call out, to shout to them to hurry.

The creature roared again.

~ _Aragorn_ ~  
_Only three of us left_, I thought. But those three couldn't be of a worse combination. It was Frodo, the Ring-bearer, the only hope for destroying the Ring. It was me, last heir to the throne of Gondor.

And it was Estel, the very last heir left of all.

Estel seemed to comprehend the situation just as fast. She seized Frodo and tossed him to Legolas, who caught him easily. But as she made to jump, the Balrog roared. Pieces of stone fell and dust flew.

I leaped forward to yank Estel back as the end of the structure crumbled. She fell backward, taking me with her. I rose to my feet at once, surveying the situation. The gap was even bigger now; there was no way in Valinor that we could jump across that gap and make it to the other side.

I grabbed Estel's shoulder as a huge stone crashed into the stairs behind us. "Steady!" I told her. She merely clung closer to me.

I gazed at her. Her grey-blue eyes were filled with equal amounts of fear and determination. She was so young. And she was truly the last hope for her people.

"Do you trust me?" I asked her, gazing into her eyes and seeing bits of Arwen's grey and my blue.

The whole world seemed to suddenly slow down and freeze. Everything seemed to be watching, holding its breath for this moment. I could no longer hear the roars of the Balrog, no longer see the arrows raining down from above, no longer feel the heat of the fires.

All I saw was Estel.

For a long moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, Estel looked at me and I looked at her, waiting for her answer. The plan that was half-formed in my mind wouldn't work without her trusting me. Would Estel, my descendant who had been raised to doubt my existence, still doubt me?

Then she nodded, and everything speeded back up.

As the bridge began falling towards the others, I tightened my hold on Estel. I wasn't so sure if my plan would work, but if it did not, I would make one last attempt to get her over.

~ _Estel_ ~  
I could only register numbness. I walked automatically into the woods of Lothlórien, not even thinking. Nothing in the tales and legends and stories I had read and heard had ever told me that Mithrandir had died. Nothing!

"Elena?"

I looked up, not bothering to conceal the tears in my eyes, to see Legolas. "I . . . didn't even get a chance to say good-bye," I choked out. I felt at once ashamed of my weakness, but I was past caring right now. The wizard had been a steadying figure in this dizzying world that was my past, and now he was gone.

He was dead.

Legolas came closer. His hands came up to rest on my shoulders. "He would not have wanted you to wallow in grief," he said softly.

Those words registered deeply within me. Legolas spoke the truth. Mithrandir would not have wanted to walk weeping and doing nothing because he had died.

I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders, giving Legolas a nod. He gave me a brief smile, which then turned into a frown.

"They say that a great sorceress lives in these woods, an Elf-witch of terrible power," Gimli was saying in a hushed voice. Legolas scowled at this insult. I quickly grabbed his arm, restraining him before he did something he would regret. "All who look upon her fall under her spell . . . and are never seen again."

I exchanged a puzzled glance with Legolas. I knew that Aragorn had been to Lothlórien before – when he and Arwen Undómiel had pledged their troth – and he was here, safe and sound and under no spell of any sort. What was so scary about Lothlórien?

"Well, here is one Dwarf she won't ensnare so easily. I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox – "

Gimli cut off abruptly as Elves suddenly appeared around us, bows at the ready. Legolas in a flash has his own bow out and ready, although I doubted that he would have ever actually fired on his own kin. I set my hand cautiously on my dagger, although I didn't think I would need it.

Aragorn looked around for a moment before a tall, golden-haired Elf appeared. "The dwarf breathes so loud, we could have shot him in the dark," he stated, giving Gimli a superior look.


	14. Chapter 13

_**Chapter Thirteen**_

~ _Legolas_ ~  
"Welcome, Legolas, son of Thranduil!" Celeborn greeted, giving me a warm smile. I inclined my head the silver-haired Lord of Caras Galadhon, feeling a certain measure of relief that we were finally inside the protected borders of Lóthlorien. Celeborn then proceeded to welcome all the other members of the Fellowship by name.

Except Elena.

"All of you are known to me, save you," Celeborn said, studying her with great interest. I was surprised by his announcement. Celeborn was one of the oldest Elves in Middle-earth, and his wife Galadriel knew much of everything that happened. For him to not have known or not have been told about her . . . that was momentous.

Elena stepped forward. Galadriel remained silent as she approached and came in better view, but Celeborn's eyes widened in surprise.

"I am Estel Elessariel," Elena declared. Her voice was suddenly regal and powerful, the voice of a ruler. "A daughter of Gondor, and of Rohan, and of Númenor."

I stared at Ele-Estel. _Elessariel? Aragorn's _daughter_?_ Aragorn, however, only looked on patiently. He did not react to Estel's announcement.

Galadriel smiled now as shock filled Celeborn's expression and he looked sharply at his wife. "Ah, yes. Welcome to Lothlórien, Estel," Galadriel greeted, her voice as melodious as a flowing river. "We have awaited your arrival since last we greeted a child of Númenor here."

Puzzlement showed momentarily on Estel's face, but she accepted the statement and bowed. But as she turned to leave, Galadriel commanded, "Wait, Elessariel. There is someone I wish you to meet."

She transferred her gaze to Haldir. "Bring him here, will you?"

"I thought he was on patrol this month in the northern borders," he said.

Galadriel shook her head. "I took the liberty of having him recalled when Elrond contacted me concerning Elessariel."

Haldir bowed out gracefully, vanishing into the dark with a few quick steps.

Estel looked confused as she turned to rejoin us. I couldn't help but stare at my best friend's daughter and feel betrayed. _Why didn't you tell me, Aragorn? Why did you feel that you could not trust me with this secret?_

Estel touched my arm, startling me. "Legolas," she began.

"Estel?"

An incredulous male voice suddenly echoed across the clearing. A young male dressed in the colors of the Galadhrim wardens had appeared beside Haldir. At first I dismissed him as an Elf, but then he came closer, and as the light fell upon him I realized my mistake.

This was a human.

Estel's face lit up. "Eldarion!" she cried.

~ _Estel_ ~  
"Estel?"

The sound of my true name jolted my attention back to the Lord and Lady. A young male – one of the wardens, by his dress – stood there next to Haldir, who had apparently returned. He was staring at me with wonder and awe.

It was then that it registered with me that while he dressed like an Elf, he was not an Elf.

And he looked like –

"Eldarion!"

With a happy cry, I raced toward my brother. Eldarion caught me in a tight hug, spinning me around before setting me down lightly. The movement brought tears to my eyes. My brother had always greeted me this way when I was young, except then I had been a lot lighter.

"I thought you had perished when Mother and Tinúviel," he said in a hushed voice.

I shook my head, gazing at my brother and trying to memorize his every feature. He looked very much like a younger version of Aragorn, I realized with a start. Many people had said so, but I had been too young to remember then. In any case, his pale blue eyes seemed no different, although they seemed to have a sort of independent sparkle that I didn't recall from before. His wavy dark hair was roughly the same length as Aragorn's, and was longer than I remembered.

"No. Aunt and Uncle took me for a surprise visit to Minas Tirith, so I wasn't there," I explained. "What about you? Uncle came in and said that Father was dead, and that you were missing. And then the stewards told us that you had fled into the forests of Mirkwood and – "

"Mirkwood?" my brother exclaimed, interrupting me mid-explanation. He started laughing. "Does _this_ look anything like Mirkwood, Estel?"

"I was three years old, Eldarion! Don't blame me for not knowing where you were every – "

Celeborn cleared his throat from behind us. I turned to him, blushing furiously for my outburst, but Celeborn was merely eyeing us with fatherly amusement. "May I suggest that this reunion continue once Estel has eaten and washed, Eldarion?" he asked.

Eldarion bowed. "Yes, my lord," he answered. His hand came to settle on my shoulder. "Thank you, my lady, for reuniting me with Estel."

Galadriel smiled faintly. "It is a debt we are glad to pay for your services to Caras Galadhon," she countered. "And thanks properly belong to Elrond of Imladris, for it is he who made me aware of Estel's coming."

"Elena, who is he?" Merry asked, still using my other name.

"Oh! Sorry," I apologized. "This is my older brother, Eldarion. It is he who was gifted the Ring of Barahir," I said meaningfully, locking gazes with Aragorn. Aragorn inclined his head to my brother – who offered a short bow in return, immediately recognizing the future King – while the other members of the Fellowship merely looked confused.

"Eldarion, this is the Fellowship of the Ring."

~ _Eldarion_ ~  
After Estel had washed and eaten and changed into better clothes, I took her to meet some of Elven wardens that I'd become friends with over the years. In particular, I wanted her to introduce her to Haldir, the marchwarden.

"Haldir was the one who found me when I woke up in Lothlórien," I explained to my sister. Lady Galadriel had most generously gifted Estel with a new dress that shone silver in the evening. My sister's long dark hair shone with the lights of Caras Galadhon, and her grey-blue eyes sparkled in the dim twilight.

Estel was no longer the childish tomboy I'd left behind. Now she was a young woman with grace and beauty. She was not as eye-catching as Tinúviel had been, granted, but the blood of the Eldar that ran ever so faintly in her veins still gave her a measure of beauty no mortal woman could match.

"He's been a most gracious companion," I continued. "He taught me all the skills of being a warden." Indeed, Haldir had. I'd thought at first that a mere mortal would be way below Haldir's area of notice, but he had taken me under his wing. He taught me how to make my own bow, how to fletch my arrows, how to shoot. He'd even taught me all that I knew of the sword as well.

Haldir then interrupted my line of thought and our conversation, dropping down in front of us as silently as he always did. He looked slightly surprised, but before long Estel had won him over and we were all talking like old friends.

After a long time, we bid Haldir good-bye and went for a long walk next to a stream that ran through Caras Galadhon. "I've missed you," she said suddenly. "Grandmother missed you too."

I drew my sister closer. "I know," I replied somberly. "What fools we must have sounded like! Both saying 'I thought you were dead' in front of everybody."

Estel laughed. "Probably. But Boromir already thinks I'm a fool, so – "

"What?"

Estel blushed, looking down. "During the Council of Elrond, I interrupted their fight," she explained sheepishly.

I rolled my eyes. "Estel, you don't have to –"

"Excuse me."

I leaped to my feet, whirling around to face the intruder. It was with surprise that I saw Legolas Thranduilion standing there. I was not surprised that he had managed to sneak up on us; the Elves of Lothlórien had been doing that to me for all the years I'd stayed here. But I was surprised to sense some trepidation emanating from the Elven Prince.

"Yes, Legolas?" Estel asked, either not picking up on Legolas's nervousness or choosing to ignore it.

"Pardon me for asking, but . . . are you really brother and sister?"

I exchanged a confused glance with Estel. _Why are you nervous about asking if we are related?_ "Yes."

"And you are . . . Aragorn's children?"


	15. Chapter 14

_**Chapter Fourteen**_

~ _Legolas_ ~  
I stayed away from Aragorn as much as I could after the revelation from Estel and Eldarion. _I have to get used to calling her Estel now, I suppose._ The knowledge that Aragorn had hid the truth of his relationship with Estel hurt. Friends weren't supposed to keep secrets from each other, and yet he had.

After eating, I immediately tried to seek out Estel and talk with her, but her brother had dragged her off already. The only thing I could pry out of the Hobbits was that she had already spoken with them and told them that 'Elena' had been her code name. Her real name was indeed Estel.

Finally, after over an hour of fruitless searching, I gave up and wandered around Caras Galadhon. I closed my eyes, stretching out my senses. I was a wood-elf, and communicating with trees came naturally to me.

It was then that I heard soft voices speaking quietly.

"I've missed you. Grandmother missed you too." _Estel._ I knew at once that it was she speaking.

"I know." The voice was somber, but most definitely male. _Eldarion._ It could only be her brother. "What fools we must have sounded like! Both saying 'I thought you were dead' in front of everybody."

Laughter. "Probably. But Boromir already thinks I'm a fool, so – "

"What?" Eldarion's voice was sharp. I could almost smell the anger that was rising in him, the protectiveness that he felt for Estel.

I didn't hear the next few sentences as I approached them. Brother and sister were sitting on the banks of the stream. Eldarion's arm was around Estel, and she was leaning into him with complete trust.

"Excuse me," I interrupted softly.

Eldarion leaped to his feet. When he faced me, I noted with shock that he'd reacted with a warrior's reflexes and reaction. He was standing perfectly balanced, and his weapons were in reach. He stood slightly forward, shielding his sister.

"Yes, Legolas?" Estel apparently had recovered first.

Eldarion slowly relaxed, but his eyes still gave me warning. They warned me that if I made a single threatening move toward his sister, I would be in deep, deep trouble. I marveled at the depth of his devotion for his sister.

"Pardon me for asking, but . . . are you really brother and sister?" I felt really stupid for asking, but I needed to start on common ground that I understood.

The two exchanged confused glances. "Yes," Eldarion answered slowly.

"And you are . . . Aragorn's children?"

Estel blinked, clearly startled. Eldarion raised an eyebrow at me in confusion before turning to his sister. "You didn't tell him?"

"Lord Elrond bade me not to tell anyone. I didn't even know that he had told Mithrandir until he confronted me," Estel answered. "And Aragorn didn't find out until Mithrandir told him in Moria."

"So, in effect, he thinks that Aragorn is our Elessar?"

"Elessar _is_ Aragorn," I insisted, confused. "Elessar is just his Elven name."

"What a mess," Eldarion muttered, hitting his forehead. "You should have just told the both of them and been done with it! Now we have to sort this out. Estel, will you get Aragorn? I'll deal with Legolas."

Estel rolled her eyes at her brother's scoldings, but obediently ran off. Eldarion eyed me for a moment, and then asked quietly, "Legolas, can you keep a secret?"

The change in subject bewildered me. "Of course," I answered.

"Good." Eldarion sat down, and I followed. "Then here's a big one. Estel and I . . . we aren't from this Age."

It took a while for the implications of this statement to sink in. "What?" I exclaimed.

Eldarion grinned. "You're just as bad as Celeborn," he teased, laughing. "He looked like someone had smacked him into a tree when Galadriel and I told him. . . Anyway, eighteen years ago, my father and I were hunting Orcs. My father was killed, and I fled. I fell into the Celebrant, and when I emerged was attacked by Orcs before being saved by Haldir. It was then that I realized that something was off. Where I come from, Rohan doesn't exist anymore. The Dúnedain are all dead. And the line of Kings failed a while ago. The stewards seized the throne, and banned the mention of the ancient Kings. There was nothing to stop them. You Elves were all gone, and the Dwarves hid deep in the mountains. The Shire was destroyed generations ago. All of that, the stewards said, were myths, fantasies. The very mention of such things was enough to get you branded a traitor . . . and killed."

"Elves aren't myths," I cut in, annoyed.

"I didn't say you were," Eldarion contradicted. "In any case, those who still believed banded together and formed a society that later came to be called the Believers because we still believed. The majority of us had blood from those stories, and all of our children are named after people from the old times. For example, my grandmother, who was named Galadriel, had the blood of Tindómiel and Manwendil, two of the children of Elros Tar-Minyatur."

For what seemed like three days, I listened to Eldarion speak. He told me of Galadriel's decision to start the Believers again, and how it had ended in disaster. I learned about the ancient customs and beliefs, and how they were learned and passed on. He spoke wistfully of the days when his father had taught him the skills of the Dúnedain in the forests. Finally, he ceased.

But I still had one more question. "What did Estel mean about the Ring of Barahir?" I asked curiously.

"The Believers had three heirlooms – the Ring of Barahir, the Evenstar pendant, and the Elessar," a voice answered from behind us. "Eldarion's father was gifted the Ring of Barahir, and when he died Eldarion came to possess it."

I leaped to my feet to see Aragorn watching us patiently. Eldarion inclined his head to Aragorn and strode off, calling over his shoulder, "He's all yours, my lord. And where's Estel?"

"Sleeping," Aragorn answered.

~ _Estel_ ~  
I started awake suddenly as someone passed by. At first I panicked, but then I saw Lady Galadriel pass by silently. She stopped and gazed silently at Frodo for a moment before moving on. Frodo awoke with a start then.

After Frodo left, I found I couldn't sleep. It wasn't that I was too cold or too hot, or that my adrenaline had yet to die down from being reunited with my brother, or that my mind was too active. I just couldn't sleep.

With a sigh I rose. Sitting in my bed staring up at the tree wouldn't do me any good. I wanted to see the sky again. _Maybe it's the Elf blood in me_, I thought ruefully. Elves loved the open too.

"Are you all right, Estel?" I started slightly as Boromir eased himself down beside me.

"Yes. I just . . . I can't sleep."

Boromir's gaze wandered over the city. "I can't either," he confessed. "I will find no rest here until we leave this city."

I glanced at him, confused. "Lothlórien's borders are well protected," I assured him. "The wardens are on guard all the time, and the power of the Lord and Lady keeps out most evil around here."

"It is not of physical safety that I speak of," Boromir countered.

"What bothers you, Boromir?" I asked. "What is wrong?"

Boromir looked down. "I heard . . . I heard _her_ voice in my head," he said, his voice almost a whisper. I heard fear in the voice. "She spoke of my father. And of the possibility of Gondor's fall."

I sighed. _That would explain his nervousness around her._ "Gondor will not fall for many years to come," I said slowly, causing him to stare at me in surprise. "Decay? Maybe. Fall? No."

He looked at me with hints of fear in his eyes. "How do you know this?" he whispered.

"I am no witch, if that is what you fear," I said quickly. I saw some of the fear back off. "But the gift of foresight can be sparingly gifted among the descendants of Elros Tar-Minyatur. Gondor will not fall for a while to come."

~ _Boromir_ ~  
I felt relief fill me at her words. They somehow felt more heartfelt and meaningful than Aragorn's reassurances had been. I felt my affection for Estel grow. Somehow, this young woman had managed to give more comfort than a Man over twice her age.

I decided to see if I could return the favor. "Why can you find no sleep?"

Estel withdrew her hand as she gazed upward once more. "I missed the stars," she said quietly. "In Imladris – sorry, Rivendell – they shone brightly, but in Moria I saw not a single glance. Oh, I think I would die if I were to be blinded and never see the stars again." She sighed. "And now I sound like an Elf."

I had to smile at her rueful tone. "Yes, you do," I agreed. "But when the Elves say it, it makes me feel like the odd one out. It's different when you say it."

Estel laughed lightly. "It's hard to imagine the famous Captain Boromir of Minas Tirith feeling like the 'odd one out'," she commented.

I pretended to scowl at her. "Very funny."

Estel pretended, in turn, to be scared. "Oh, no, the famous captain has been aggravated," she said in a fearful tone. "Run away, run away, run away!"

With a laugh, she sprang to her feet and began to run away. I leaped up and chased after her, feeling as though my heart was on wings. I felt suddenly light, as though the smallest breeze could waft me away. The realization of what this feeling really was shocked me.

I was in love with Estel Elessariel.

* * *

Happy New Year's, everyone!


	16. Chapter 15

_**Chapter Fifteen**_

~ _Estel_ ~  
I was approached by Legolas the morning of our departure. The Elven Prince looked radiant under the beams of soft sunlight, which seemed to at once blend in and contrast with his golden hair. He was no longer clad in the rich clothes of the Galadhrim, but like all Elves was beautiful with or without the accompanying raiment, for few clothes made in Middle-earth could match their beauty save those made by the Elves themselves.

"~I did not realize the significance of your coming on this quest,~" he said quietly.

I looked up at the Elf. "~There is little significance in coming on a quest,~" I pointed out. "~Only in what you do matters, not your decision or declaration.~"

Legolas gave a weak smile. "~It appears you have inherited the tongue of Lord Elrond,~" he said. "~You argue very well.~"

I laughed. "~Nay, 'tis only because I am speaking with an Elf,~" I teased, brushing back my hair and adopting the flowing, flowery language of the courts. "~Were I to speak with a fellow mortal I would not be so polite.~"

Legolas's smile faded, and he stepped closer. "~I wish that you would remain here in Lothlórien,~" he said in a low voice. "~The Lord and Lady can offer you more shelter than this quest.~"

I sighed in exasperation. Eldarion had approached me with a similar request last night, and had come very close to ordering me to remain. But I had bluntly told him no. I trusted Legolas, Aragorn, and him to keep me safe, and I would not sit still while they faced the dangers of this quest.

In any case, he was in no position to give _me_ orders. My grandmother had made me the leader of the Believers with her death, not him. It was I who bore the Elessar, and I alone who had the power to let others into our society.

Not that it really mattered now, of course.

"~No, Legolas.~" I looked up into Legolas's blue eyes, trying to make him understand. "~I will not sit still while you and the others face the dangers.~"

"~Your safety is more important than your conscience,~" Legolas argued.

I lost my patience. Prince of Mirkwood Legolas may be and my senior over a hundred times over, but I was no child to be coddled. "~I appreciate your concern, Your Majesty,~" I said stiffly, turning away. "~But I am no child to be coddled and shielded. Now, if you will excuse me – ~"

And I pushed past the startled Elf and stalked away, severely annoyed.

~ _Boromir_ ~  
I woke feeling completely rested and slightly more at ease. My talk with Estel had done wonders. _Speaking of Estel, where is she?_ I wondered, glancing around.

Aragorn and Eldarion were already awake, and were sitting and talking with one another. The two seemed to get along remarkably well, and I was beginning to wonder if Eldarion too was a Ranger. He had the bearing, and the training, although why he had been in this strange place escaped me. The Hobbits and Gimli still snored away, peacefully oblivious to everything else. However, there was no sign of the Elf or of Estel.

I rose and started searching for Estel. But when she had managed to elude me for over an hour, I decided to give it up. Apparently if Estel did not want to found, she would not be.

But it was then that I heard soft voices speaking the melodious Elven language. I hurried toward the sounds, my excitement building.

Only to suddenly cut off as the sight greeted my eyes.

Estel was walking away from Legolas. The Elf looked after her, and I detected sadness in his eyes.

I felt as though my heart had suddenly been pierced, as though my feet had been suddenly cut out from under me, as though there was a burden on my shoulders that suddenly weighed me down. I had fallen in love with Estel just in time for her the Elf to fall for her as well.

I felt a growl grow on my lips. I knew that I could not compete with an Elf if he wished to truly try to gain a woman's heart. But why should the Elf be the one to win her love? Radiant and handsome he may be, but also conceited and arrogant. He was only good for things that needed a bow and arrow, for he wore and used no sword. What kind of warrior did not use a sword?

I was used to getting my way with women, but few had ever attracted me like Estel had. Actually, none ever had before. _Oh, the bitter irony_, I thought. The one woman I wanted above all else was the one just beyond my grasp. I was now in the position of many of the women who'd wanted me.

I ground my teeth. _You will never have her, Elf_, I vowed. _Never. She is mine, and mine alone, even if I must fight against the gods themselves._

An idea appeared to me. Estel had seen quite impressed with Lothlórien and all the Elvish works. But the Elves, although graceful and mysterious and mystical, were nothing compared to the splendor and glory of Minas Tirith.

And I was a figure of large importance in Minas Tirith.

_That will work_, I thought, my anger ebbing with each step. _To strike out now would only serve to push Estel further into the Elf's embrace. But to show her the wonder and glory of Minas Tirith, of Gondor – that might turn her heart to me. And then she will be mine, safe from that Elf._

~ _Estel_ ~  
I watched somberly as Haldir clasped the cloak around me. "~Thank you, Haldir,~" I whispered quietly.

The marchwarden smiled. "~May the Valar grant that it helps you.~"

I gave him a quick embrace. "~It probably will, knowing my brother's talent for getting himself and everyone around him into trouble,~" I replied.

Eldarion glared at me. "~Hey! No teaming up on people,~" he scolded, eyeing us with great suspicion.

Haldir chuckled from behind me. "~We aren't. We are just . . . comparing life stories,~" he said, his blue eyes twinkling with laughter.

Eldarion growled something under his breath and stomped over to join the other members of the Fellowship of the Ring. I threw one last smile over my shoulder at Haldir before I joined my brother. When I turned back, the Elf had disappeared completely into the shadows.

Eldarion bowed deeply when Lady Galadriel came to us. "~I ask your leave, my lady,~" he said respectively. "~I wish to join the quest of the Fellowship of the Ring. Unfortunately, it also means that I must depart this fair city and hand over my duties to another.~"

Lady Galadriel smiled. "~Your request is granted. It is with great gratitude that I give you this, in thanks for your services to Caras Galadhon and her people.~" And she gave to my very astonished brother a gleaming sword, elegantly fashioned with beautiful Elvish writing on the blade. It was a simple sword, but also an Elf one, meaning that it was stronger and lighter than the swords of Men.

"~You have my undying gratitude and thanks, my lady,~" Eldarion murmured, bowing once more.

Lady Galadriel turned to me. I raised my hand to forestall the coming gift. "~Thank you, my lady, but your gift has already been given to me. My brother is all the gift I ask for.~"

"~Maybe so,~" she said softly. "~But still I have one more gift yet to offer. If you have inherited my son-in-law's tongue, then it is to be assumed that you have also inherited some of his skills.~" She handed me a cleverly fashioned bow and quiver. I marveled at the strength of the bow, testing it in my hands. It felt oh so light, much lighter than I'd expected a bow to feel. Painted twisting golden vines gracefully spun dizzying circles around the bow, contrasting nicely with the dark green wood. The quiver was of similar make, although the vines' circles were not as dizzying and were much more graceful, like real vines you'd see climbing up a tree. The arrows were plentiful and fletched well, probably by expert hands.

Then I noticed that inscribed on the quiver in beautiful Elvish was my name – Estel.

"~A dagger is well for self-defense,~" she told me as I looked back up, shocked at the value of the gifts she'd given me, "~but a bow and quiver will also do you some good. It would be ill indeed for one so determined to continue this quest to not be able to also defend it.~"

I bowed. "~Then I can only accept your gift, and offer in return my gratitude, poor as it is.~"

Lady Galadriel laughed softly. "~The gratitude of a child of Númenor is not easily gained nor given. It is fine payment indeed.~"


	17. Chapter 16

Ah! I'm so sorry! I didn't post Chapter 15 and posted this instead by mistake! Okay, I have fixed that now, so if anyone was scratching their head when they read this chapter, well, that was totally my fault. Sorry!

* * *

_**Chapter Sixteen**_

~ _Legolas_ ~  
Estel and I had not spoken together since our argument in Caras Galadhon. I was surprised by her sudden anger at my urging, although, now that I had reflected back on it, Estel probably had been severely annoyed by the attempts to protect her – essentially caging her.

I sighed. Eldarion was more like Elrond, and even possibly like Elros himself. Physically he was a mirror image of him – dark brown hair, grey eyes, a good build, and a powerful aura. He was strong physically and mentally, had good morals, and loved his family dearly, understanding with astonishing clarity and acceptance that that since they were of the race of Men they only had so many years together. In almost every respect he was a true son of Númenor who embodied the best traits bestowed upon Men.

Estel was in some respects like Eldarion, but in others totally not. In physical terms, she carried the wavy dark brown hair, but it was tempered with locks of blonde sometimes when the light hit it just right. Her eyes were a mix of Aragorn's grey and Arwen's blue. She had the impassive outward countenance of Elves and the fiery inner passion of Men. She loved nature and the Elvish architecture that reflected that love, but also was interested in the geometrical, towering buildings of Men. She had inherited the immortal beauty of the Elves that was made all the brighter by the shortness of its existence. A flame that burned brightly for a day with all its heart and soul was far more beautiful than the fire that raged and endured even unto the ending of the world.

And Estel had also inherited the free spirit that shone through both.

I raised my eyes from the fire. Estel had bidden Eldarion good night and was fixing her bedroll. With silent steps I approached, seeking to make amends.

"~What is it, Your Highness?~" she asked suddenly, startling me. Most mortals were not able to discern the footsteps of immortals. Estel turned to face me. Her grey-blue eyes were stormy and the air between us was tense.

"~I . . . I apologize for my urging you to stay,~" I said finally. "~I underestimated your devotion to your forefather. However, know that I was only acting in thinking of your well being.~"

Estel's eyes softened at my words, and slowly the wariness faded from her posture. "~I know,~" she replied. "~And I apologize for taking it out on you. Eldarion asked me the same question before you did; that's why I wasn't at the tent.~"

"~And how did he try to persuade you?~"

"~By ordering me as a warden of Caras Galadhon to remain in the city,~" Estel answered, plainly annoyed. "~He has no such authority over me.~"

"~Um . . . He is your older brother, Estel.~"

Estel threw up her hands in exasperation and stalked off. I gazed after her with no small amount of confusion. "~Mortals are so confusing,~" I muttered to myself.

Eldarion appeared by my side, laughing. "~Well, well, well. The great Prince of Mirkwood is defeated by a mere mortal!~" he teased, shoving me.

I glared at him, but his laughter only intensified. "~Be – careful,~" he advised between laughs as he struggled for breath. "~Estel may look more like me, but she inherited Tinúviel's temper.~"

My anger faded into confusion. "~Who is Tinúviel?~" I asked.

"~I have two sisters,~" Eldarion explained. A pained look crossed his face when he said so, but he continued before I could enquire why. "~Estel is the youngest of the three of us. Tinúviel was the second child born. I look like Elros, and Tinúviel looked like – ~"

"~ – Lúthien Tinúviel,~" I finished.

Eldarion nodded. "~Yes. But all the more reason to be careful. You should have seen what Tinúviel did to Círdan!~"

"~What?~"

"~Oh, sorry. There was a Believer called Círdan, after Lord Círdan of the Grey Havens,~" Eldarion hastily elaborated. "~Believers always tried to marry other Believers; it made thing so much easier. Tinúviel was betrothed to Círdan when she turned twelve, as was the standard practice. But they were more agreeable as friends than as fiancées. I remember once when Círdan and I were having an archery competition, Tinúviel came in and asked to participate. Círdan refused to let her, citing that he feared she would lose and that her feelings would be hurt.~"

"~I am guessing that she participated all the same and that she did not lose,~" I remarked dryly, "~if she's anything like Estel.~"

Eldarion laughed. "~Indeed,~" he agreed. "~She beat both of us, actually. But after a while Mother calmed her down and as the years went by Tinúviel became more lady-like as Mother wished. However, I doubt Estel will follow that same path.~"

I glanced over when Estel had disappeared. "~I doubt that too,~" I said softly.

~ _Aragorn_ ~  
I noticed Boromir detach himself from our camp. I followed quietly, and saw what was bothering him – a log floating down the river. Celeborn had warned me of this.

"Gollum. He has tracked us since Moria," I said softly. "I had hoped we would lose him on the river. But he is too clever a waterman."

Voices attracted my attention as I turned away. Eldarion met my eyes worriedly, but did not rise from where he and his sister spoke softly in the Elven tongue by the fire. Estel had a blanket wrapped around her, and her fingers slowly caressed the bow Lady Galadriel had given her.

"Minas Tirith is the safer road. You know it. From there we can regroup . . . strike out for Mordor from a place of strength," Boromir insisted.

I turned back to him, trying to hide my surprise. After all this time, he _still_ wished for the Ring to go to Gondor? He had not spoken a word of this to me this whole time.

"There is no strength in Gondor that can avail us," I countered somberly.

"You were quick enough to trust the Elves. Have you so little faith in your own people?" Boromir demanded.

Eldarion picked up on the conversation. His eyes flashed dangerously, and he made to rise. I gave a quick jerk of my head, warning him not to get involved. Eldarion's internal struggle displayed openly on his face, but he eventually sat back down, conceding to me.

"Yes, there is weakness. There is frailty. But there is courage also, and honor to be found in Men. But you will not see that!" Boromir grabbed me, forcibly turning me around. I let him, choosing not to fight.

"You are afraid!" he accused harshly. "All your life, you have hidden in the shadows, scared of who you are, of what you are!"

Boromir's harsh words finally struck a chord within me. I whirled back to him. "I will not lead the Ring within a hundred leagues of your city!" I said angrily, fighting to keep my voice low.

Our raised voices had apparently attracted Estel's attention, for she suddenly appeared next to us. "Peace!" she commanded. But her tone had a ring of fury in it – fury that was directed at Boromir.

"Is it not enough to let this go for one night?" she demanded. Behind her I saw Eldarion gazing with murder in his eyes at Boromir. Legolas didn't look much happier, but his struggle was less visible than Eldarion's. "We have already discussed where the Ring will go, Boromir. You yourself agreed that you will abide by the will of the Council!"

Boromir gave me a dark glare. "Who says that Aragorn is following the will of the Council?" he asked in a low voice, his eyes blazing and his tone menacing.

Estel wasn't fazed in the least bit by Boromir's anger and bearing. "The Ring is going to Mordor to be destroyed." Every single word was weighted with authority, and I found myself strongly reminded of Lord Elrond when I had been trapped in his healing ward. "You can obey this decision and help, or you can leave and journey to Minas Tirith. No one will stop you."

With that, Estel whirled around and marched away, her shoulders stiff with disapproval. Boromir eyed her with an emotion that made me uneasy. Was it fear? Longing?

"I . . . will stay and help," he said finally in a subdued voice.

~ _Estel_ ~  
Legolas was turned away from me, his fair face composed in slumber. That is, if you called a strange, dream-filled, open-eyed trance slumber. But to Legolas it was sleep, and was the only sleep he knew.

I sighed. I knew that he had meant no harm, and that immortals often were cleverer in their speech than mortals. More often than not they had hidden meanings, for their long life and maturity made things all the harder to detect what they truly meant sometimes. My anger, which had been pounded into existence by Eldarion and inflamed by Boromir's cruel words to Aragorn, had taken over me and I had lashed out at the person who next spoke – Legolas.

I wanted to apologize to the Elven Prince. He had shown nothing but kindness towards Eldarion and me, even after being . . . deceived by us.

"Estel?"

I looked up, startled, to see Legolas watching me a questioning expression. He had rolled over and was propped up on one elbow. I saw only concern in his eyes, and immediately felt all the more ashamed for my childish behavior towards him.

Legolas seemed to comprehend my shame. He reached out to touch my cheek lightly. "~You had a lot on your mind,~" he said gently. Then a teasing light grew in his blue eyes. "~And Tinúviel's temper and pride – which you inherited – probably made you more reactive than normal.~"

All of my nervousness faded away. "I have _not_ inherited her temper and pride," I snapped defensively, reverting to the tongue that I was most familiar with. However, it only served to further prove Legolas's point.

Legolas laughed softly. "~You just proved that you did, Estel,~" he said, laughter still ringing in his tone.

"~Picky Elf,~" I muttered under my breath, throwing myself back down on my blankets.

Legolas's laughter faded. "~I wasn't done yet,~" he chided. I prepared to retort, but he overrode me. "~You also inherited her free spirit. You were right. You are not meant to be caged, even if it is for your own protection. Beauty such as yours withers behind bars, no matter how lavishly they are decorated or how loving they are erected.~"

I propped myself up, startled. Beauty such as yours? What? Legolas offered a small smile. "~You can't deny it; the blood of the Eldar glows in you even when masked by the blood of Men.~"

"~In Tinúviel it shone even brighter,~" I argued softly. Tears welled up slowly in my eyes at the mention of Tinúviel. As Arwen Undómiel had been considered among the Elves the last Elf born in the likenesses of the Elven Princesses of old and the last Elf born in the embodiment of Lúthien Tinúviel, my sister had been considered among the Believers as _our_ Evenstar – the last of the descendants of Elessar and Undómiel who would be born in the likeness of Lúthien Tinúviel. Hers was a grave and personal loss, for me and all of my kin who survived.

"~Maybe.~" Legolas shrugged. "~But the eyes of Men will be taken with your beauty first, for whilst your sister is not with you, you alone shine with that blood.~"

I eyed him with sudden suspicion. "~Flattery does not become you, Thranduilion,~" I said warningly.

He smiled again. "~So, you finally figured it out?~" he teased. "~Am I forgiven now? Or must I beg for the forgiveness of the last Believer?~"

I groaned and tossed a pillow at his smiling face and teasing voice. "~Go to sleep, Legolas.~"

I heard the smile in his voice as he replied, "~Sweet dreams, Estel.~" And I smiled that night as my vision faded and I slept.


	18. Chapter 17

Okay, now that it is midterm week, I had the idea of a midterm marathon of fanfiction for me. So, for each of the next 4-5 days of midterms, I'm going to post a new chapter. Thanks to all of my readers for sticking with me this far!

* * *

_**Chapter Seventeen**_

~ _Legolas_ ~  
We pulled up to shore and everyone clambered out of the boats. Estel hopped out neatly as her brother had tugged their boat up and then assisted the Hobbits in clambering out. Then we worked together to get the supplies out. Eldarion, Aragorn, and I all tossed or carried the stuff on shore, and Estel busied herself with tending the fire.

Finally everything was ashore, but my nerves wouldn't settle. I felt as though something was breathing down my neck and taunting me by hiding in plain sight.

Something evil.

I listened with only half an ear as Aragorn and Gimli argued about something. The Dwarf sounded disgruntled, but Aragorn was short in his replies and the conversation quickly ended. When it did, I turned and spoke softly to him.

"We should leave now," I said urgently.

"No," Aragorn countered, authority tainting his words. "Orcs patrol the eastern shore. We must wait for cover of darkness."

I gazed around the clearing. "It is not the eastern shore that worries me. A shadow and a threat has been growing in my mind. Something draws near. . . I can feel it." With the last, I looked back at Aragorn, who wore a troubled expression.

Just then, one of the Hobbits' voices cut through the air. "Where's Frodo?"

The simple question jolted us all into action. With a start, I surveyed the surroundings. There was Sam, and Pippin, and Merry, and Gimli. And Eldarion and Estel. But . . . indeed, Frodo was _not_ among us.

My gaze came to rest on a large round shield. _Boromir isn't here either_, I realized.

Estel came to the same conclusion seconds later. She swore softly, her eyes flicking to her brother. "Eldarion, this isn't – "

"It is," he answered grimly.

Estel swore again – not bothering to keep it quiet this time – and dashed off into the woods. Within seconds, her green-clad formed vanished, blending seamlessly into the trees.

"Estel, wait!" Aragorn shouted, but it was too late. She couldn't hear us.

Now it was Eldarion's turn to curse out loud, his hand dropping down to rest on his sword. "Estel, you fool!" he muttered, starting off.

I grabbed his arm. "I'll go after her," I said. Eldarion gave me a brief nod and I darted off after Estel.

~ _Estel_ ~  
I raced past the trees, ignoring everything else. Every fiber of my being was concentrated on finding Boromir before he did something foolish. I hadn't realized that this was Amon Hen, where Boromir was said to have fallen.

I cursed my stupidity. I should have realized this earlier and prevented Boromir from doing whatever he was going to do now, as it was most likely the cause of him getting killed.

I gasped and halted as something cold brushed past me, filling me with a sense of evil. For a moment, I stood disoriented. Then I shook my head slowly, trying to disperse the feeling. _Oh, no. Was that – _

Could Frodo have put on the Ring to flee from Boromir?

The thought spurred me to run even faster. I finally came to a halt some time later, panting and looking around. I thought momentarily of Legolas, and jealously spread through me – it would be so much easier to find Boromir if I had an Elf's speed.

But then – "Curse you! Curse you! And all the halflings!"

_Boromir._

I ran toward the sounds of the voice. I arrived just in time to see Boromir fall to the ground as he tripped over something.

"Boromir, what happened?" I asked anxiously, dropping to my knees beside the man. I helped him stand. He didn't seem to hear me.

"Boromir, _what happened_?" I demanded, grabbing his shoulders so that he was forced to look at me. I needed to find out what went wrong.

"Halfling grabbed the Ring," he muttered distractedly, still looking wildly around. "Put it on. . . . Ran off."

"Oh, no," I breathed. But I curbed my instinctual reaction to go after the Hobbit. Frodo was old enough, and it was his burden to bear. In any case, Aragorn would find him soon. Right now, I needed to concentrate on getting Boromir back to the others.

"Come on," I said, starting to turn away.

Boromir grabbed my arm, pulling me back around in the same fashion he had pulled Aragorn during their argument.

"What is it?" I asked. Fear was starting to grow in me. There was an almost wild look in Boromir's eyes, as though he wasn't himself. Something was wrong.

"You," he said hoarsely. "You fall for that Elf!"

"What?"

"Don't deny it," he said harshly, shoving me back. His hands gripped my shoulders so tightly I feared they would bruise.

"Let me go, Boromir." I tried to shove him away, but he was too strong. He merely shoved me again. I gasped as I slammed against a tree.

Boromir immediately stepped forward, crowding me. Fear began to take over me now, suppressing my instincts and my mind, which screamed at me to do something, anything.

But it was clear, oh so very clear, that something was terribly wrong now. Boromir had never acted this way around me. He should never act this way around me, even though now I was out of reach, ear, and eyeshot from Eldarion and Aragorn and Legolas.

"You are a fool to fall for the Elf," he hissed. "And I'll show you how much you're a fool."

With that, he shoved me suddenly. I yelped when I fell sideways onto the ground. Immediately, I saw a way out of the situation and started to roll away. I needed to get away from Boromir. He wasn't in his right mind.

But Boromir had apparently anticipated this reaction, and he grabbed me, forcing me to halt or dislocate my leg. I cried out in pain when his hand came into contact with my face.

"Boromir, stop!" I cried, trying to shove him off of me. "Boromir, please, you aren't in your right mind. Stop!"

His hand went to my belt. Panic wiped away every other emotion. Before this I had been a slave. I knew at once what he intended to do to me. So many others had done exactly the same.

"No!"

I struggled against his restraining hands, seeking any opening I could get. But Boromir was simply too strong. Unless in his madness he made a mistake, there would be no escape from him . . . or my shame.

~ _Legolas_ ~  
I rose from the ground, troubled. I had tracked Estel this far already, and I sensed that something had caused her to stop. Fear permeated the air around this spot.

I growled to myself. Before I had learned who she was, Estel had already begun to garner my attention me. She was, essentially, like Aragorn – a perfect blend of the two Children of Ilúvatar. In her was the result of the combination of the grace and beauty of the Elves and the impulsiveness and stubbornness of Men.

And when Aragorn and Eldarion had revealed her true identity, I had sworn that I would protect her at any and all costs. Estel was not exactly delicate, but nor was she to be left to her own devices all the time. Others less respectful of her and other women would be attracted to her and tempted to take advantage of her youth and beauty.

What was more, Aragorn was one of my most trusted friends. Estel was Aragorn's descendant, and thus I felt inclined to help my friend protect her. And if she wanted to come along on such a risky trip, the most I could hope for was to protect her so that she would be safely returned to Imladris.

I closed my eyes, silently asking the trees to guide me to her. I did not trust Boromir. The Man showed little respect for even Aragorn, and he was unaware of Estel's ancestry and of the vows we had taken to protect her.

My eyes snapped open as waves of distress and panic filled me, carried to me by the trees. It was as if they were urging me to go to Estel, to help her. The sudden knowledge filled me with fear.

Something was terribly wrong.

I began to run at full speed toward the center of these feelings. _Please protect her_, I prayed to the Valar.

_And if you have laid a single _finger_ on her, Boromir, you will face the wrath of everyone for – Aragorn, Eldarion, Lord Elrond . . . and me._

* * *

Before people start jumping on me and flaming me for Boromir's behavior, let me make one thing clear: _Boromir is only acting this way because he is still under the influence of the Ring._ You may notice that he didn't apologize or starting looking for Frodo yet. He'll do that later. So, again: Boromir isn't bad, and I don't think of him or portray him as bad – he's just under the influence of the Ring right now, so he has literally no control over himself.


	19. Chapter 18

Day 2 of my midterm marathon! This chapter marks the end of Estel's journey through The Fellowship of the Ring, in which she recovered a brother, Eldarion. After this, I move on to The Two Towers.

* * *

_**Chapter Eighteen**_

~ _Estel_ ~  
I struggled violently against Boromir's restraining hands, seeking escape. I knew that Boromir wasn't in his right mind, and for him to force himself on me would effectively ruin everything. Eldarion and Lord Elrond would never forgive him, and I would never be comfortable in his presence again.

In fact, I doubted that I would ever be comfortable with him again, regardless of whether I escaped or not.

Boromir growled at me in anger, and I froze in fear. Already I had bruises from this encounter; I didn't need anymore. But then Boromir released one of my hands, obviously assuming that I had yielded completely to him.

In a flash, my hand darted to the concealed dagger Lord Elrond had given to me. I yanked the blade out, and it flashed across Boromir's chest, slicing open the first layer of his clothes. Then I slammed the hilt into his hands.

He grunted in surprise and released me completely. Gasping, I scrambled to my feet and fled.

I didn't care where I fled and didn't make my path. The only thing I could think of was to flee far away from Boromir. Panic had overtaken any other emotion, any rational sense.

Someone grabbed my arm. "Estel!"

I whirled around, trying to break the grip. "No! Stay away from me, Boromir!"

~ _Legolas_ ~  
I started when Estel ran past me suddenly. I had a split second to choose – go after Boromir, or go after Estel. I decided that revenge could wait; I needed to make sure that Estel was alright.

I darted after her. My speed was such that after a moment, I got close enough to grab her arm. "Estel!" I exclaimed worriedly.

Estel spun around, trying desperately to break the grip. "No!" she cried wildly. "Stay away from me, Boromir!"

My rage spiked at the mention of the name, and it was with great difficulty that I kept myself from tightening my grip on her arm. By the time I had gotten my temper back under control, Estel had realized who it was and had ceased her struggles.

My gaze traveled over her, noting a rip in her tunic and a bruise on her cheek. My anger grew with each new injury I saw. Then I noticed how her belt was undone.

My eyes flashed up to her face and my breath caught. Boromir had tried to rape her.

"Legolas," Estel breathed. Her face was flushed and her eyes shown with fear. Everything about her was telling me that something – Boromir, I thought with in anger – had scared her. "I'm so sorry – "

I let my hands settle on her shoulders. "What did he do?" I demanded angrily.

I realized my mistake as Estel blanched and shrank away. I pulled her close to me, trying to reassure myself that she was safe now and vowing deep revenge on Denethorion.

She hesitated, but eventually gave up and leaned against me. She rested her head on her hands, still braced on my chest as if to try and push me away, and I felt trembles go through her slender body. I could still sense her fear and her confusion.

I felt anger rage within me, and I knew right then and there that I would never allow Estel alone with anyone save her brother and Aragorn. She had already been wounded so much that to suffer more was just . . . I just couldn't allow it.

~ _Eldarion_ ~  
"Estel!" I shouted.

There was no answer. Fear raced in my veins for my sister. It was like her to run off so impulsively, but it was unlike her to be gone for so long.

I heard yelling in the distance. My heartbeat sped up as I recognized the ugly calls of Orcs. I began to run in the direction of the shouts.

I raced onto the scene just in time to see Aragorn jump onto some Orcs with a cry of "Elendil!" With a snarl, I pulled out my sword and entered the fight. I was soon deeply thankful for Haldir's extensive training in the matter of sword fighting. Training with and against Elves had given me strength and reflexes that proved very helpful against the Orcs.

_Oops_, I realized suddenly as one of the "Orcs" fell flat on its face in front of me after I stabbed it. _These aren't Orcs._

"Uruk-hai!" I muttered to myself. The creation of Saruman. Lovely. Just what I wanted to meet on my first true venture out of Lothlórien after meeting my sister for the first time in eighteen years.

Legolas and Gimli raced onto the scene and immediately the battle grew more crowded as the two succeeded in creating a whole lot more confusion. One of the Uruk-hai managed to back me into a corner. I ducked, avoiding a fatal blow.

There was a _twang_ of a bow being released, and an arrow plunged itself into the Uruk-hai's chest. I looked around, startled, to see my sister slowly lowering her bow.

"Estel!" I ran over to my sister, squeezing her tightly in a powerful embrace. I shot a grateful look at Legolas, who merely inclined his head in reply before whirling to shot yet another Uruk-hai.

My sister choked out, "Eldarion, _air_, please. I would like to live past this, you know."

I let go, embarrassed, just as a horn sounded loudly. Legolas's head turned toward the sound. "The horn of Gondor!" he exclaimed.

"Boromir!"

With that, we moved our battle down the hill to the embattled Boromir Denethorion.

~ _Estel_ ~  
I ran onto the scene as Aragorn moved over to – more like stumbled, actually – over to Boromir. The Man had three nasty looking black arrows sticking out of his chest. "Oh, no," I breathed, coming to a halt next to Legolas.

Boromir had tried to rape me, had tried to steal the Ring from Frodo, had insulted Aragorn and the Elves – but I had not wanted him to die.

My brother flew past me, dropping to his knees next to the two Men. With expert hands skilled in the healing lore of the Dúnedain, he and Aragorn pried out the black arrows, working quickly before the poison of the arrows spread.

My brother poured some water over the wounds, and Boromir jerked in pain, gasping, as the cold water came into contact with the wounds left by the arrows.

"He doesn't have too long to live," Aragorn murmured, resting a hand on Boromir's forehead.

"But he still has time before he goes to the Halls of Mandos," Eldarion argued. "Lothlórien can offer him healing."

"Lothlórien is too far upstream," Legolas cut in, striding over. "He would not make it in time, and the quest must continue."

Eldarion paused. "I will take him," he volunteered quietly. "I will take him back."

I stared at my brother. A bitter taste crept into my mouth. Was this all life had to offer to me? To finally gain my brother back after eighteen long years only to lose him once more? "Eldarion – " I began.

"No, Estel," my brother interrupted, standing. "I know where the wardens usually patrol, and they know me very well. You and the others can go on; I will join you after I see Boromir into the hands of the Lord and Lady."

~ _Legolas_ ~  
Eldarion and Aragorn eased Boromir into one of the boats as Estel worked swiftly to pack Eldarion some food and water for the journey. She then approached Eldarion, her eyes sparkling as they always did, but this time with tears of sadness instead of those of joy and mirth.

Aragorn and I withdrew to give the sister and brother some time alone. I knew that the separation was going to be hard on the both of them. Estel and Eldarion had, from what I had seen and heard, been the closest in all of their family, and they were close still even with a gap of almost two decades. I could see it in the way the two interacted – the teasing jokes, the gentle touches, the quiet conversations. Already they had been parted for eighteen long years, fearing that the other was dead and gone, beyond the reach of even the Valar themselves.

Now they were to be parted yet again, and it would agony for the both of them, for this time they would be so close and yet so far away from each other. And they were going to be parted because of a Man who had probably reopened the scars in Estel's _fëa_.

Eldarion hugged his sister tightly then as their conversation ended, and I saw a single tear roll down his cheek. Estel gave him a rather forced smile before withdrawing. Eldarion turned to us and clasped first Aragorn's and then my shoulders in the traditional farewell.

"This, I guess, will be farewell – for a time," he said mournfully, unable to hide the anguish in his voice that arose from being separated from his sister. "So I entrust to you the safekeeping of my sister, Estel Elessariel. Please, keep her safe."

Aragorn placed his hand over his heart. "You have my word, Eldarion Elessarion," he vowed. "My sword and life is pledged in her defense until your return."

Eldarion summoned a ghost of a smile. "I know, and I trust you, my king," he murmured, inclining his head. Then Eldarion turned to me.

I copied Aragorn's movement. "Your kinsman I may not be," I said, "but if one is to judge by friendship, Estel Elessariel is indeed my kin. My bow and life is pledged to her safekeeping, now and until the end of my days."

Tears glimmered in Eldarion's eyes and he bowed. "You honor me with your devotion to me and my kin," Eldarion replied. Then he leaped into the boat and pushed off, giving one last look over his shoulder to his sister, who called out, "~The sun shines on the day of your departure, my brother!~"

Eldarion smiled rather sadly as the words of what I sensed was the traditional farewell for the Believers, and he shouted back, "~May the Valar grant that it will shine all the brighter on the day of my return, my sister!~"


	20. Chapter 19

Day 3 of my midterm marathon! This chapter is sort of like an interlude between The Fellowship of the Ring and The Two Towers, and is sort of ties up some of loose ends that irritated me when I didn't address them.

* * *

_**Chapter Nineteen**_  
(everything is spoken in Elvish)

~ _Eldarion_ ~  
I looked up anxiously as Lord Celeborn entered the room. He looked as lordly as ever, but sadness hung around him. I couldn't stop the questions once he got within hearing range.

"Is he all right? Will he make it?"

Celeborn managed a faint smile as he placed a fatherly hand on my shoulder. "Calm down, Eldarion," he advised, his warm voice tinged with amusement.

I sighed, trying to follow Celeborn's advice. "And here I fancied myself so much more grown up than Estel," I muttered to myself.

Celeborn laughed as I looked up sheepishly, realizing that I had forgotten – for the thousandth time, I was sure – keenness of Elven hearing. Since had I had been in Lothlórien for so long among the Elves, I had come to realize the many differences that made our two kindreds estranged. Elves far surpassed me in strength, speed, beauty, and many other nuances of life. They were of the twilight, and were the older children of the world.

But the Elves faded now. Even Lady Galadriel, I knew, had begun to accept that she and her kindred would diminish to make way for my own kindred.

_My own kindred._ I grimaced. In the stories and songs of old, it was sung that the Elves were fair, immortal, and wise, and that Men were gifted with endurance and strength and hardihood from the days that they had been young and had first awoken under the brilliant fires of Arien. That strength, however, had not availed Isildur when Lord Elrond had counseled him to cast the One Ring into the fires of Mount Doom after Sauron had been defeated.

Sometimes I doubted my own race. It wasn't exactly the most glorious endeavor to pursue in my spare time, but it sometimes seemed the most proper. Men had diminished along with the Elves, although we retained little now of our former power while the Elves seemed to have retained much more.

"Estel is young yet," Celeborn said kindly. "And you were considered an adult by the standards of Men ere she was first born. But all the children of Númenor age quickly, for they too share in the wisdom of the Eldar. Estel is wise as well, and her wisdom serves her well."

I mustered a sad smile. "Sometimes she seems very far away from me," I murmured. "As though she is right beside me joined at the hip and heart and soul and yet is separated by the thinnest veil."

Celeborn regarded me sadly. "I would advise you not to dwell upon it," he advised, turning to lead me towards the place where healers were tending to Boromir. "Estel has had to fight on her own for many years now, and she has not yet grown used to having an older brother who wants to protect her."

I laughed. "It is more than just me, my lord! From what I hear, Lord Elrond and Aragorn and even Legolas view her as family as well."

Celeborn laughed as well. "Then she is indeed well protected. Although, with so many brothers around her, perhaps she is willing to break free of your protection once in a while and taste freedom. She was a slave for a long time."

"Except that Lord Elrond is _not_ her brother," I muttered.

Celeborn merely smiled.

We entered the room where Boromir lay. Lady Galadriel looked up as I moved swiftly to the Man's side. "How is he?" I asked urgently.

She gave me a ghost of a faint smile. "You did well, Elessarion," she said, ignoring my question. I did not care too much for her praise right now. I did not want the Fellowship to be broken with Boromir's death. True, it had already begun to break with the death of Mithrandir, but . . .

"You feel that there is no need for further bloodshed." Galadriel's voice was serene, and I looked up at the Lady. As usual, she had read me perfectly and voiced my thoughts as if they had originated in her herself.

"Yes, my lady." I looked down at Boromir. He was pale, paler than I'd ever seen Man before. His skin was cold to the touch, as if his skin was but a barrier, a veil that held his life force still.

I squeezed my eyes shut as memories arose. _No._ Boromir had not been the palest Man I'd seen lying in the embrace of death.

_I stumbled through the field. Once it had been gold and green with grain and grass, lit by the rays of the morning sun as if on fire. Once children had run through here, giggling and playing games. Once horses had grazed here and helped pull plows and helped till the soil. Once farmers had come here to plant and harvest in the never-ending circle._

_But now everything was different._

_The grass and grain had been trampled and burned. Ashes covered the ground that had once held rows and rows of vegetation. Blood and salty tears soaked the black ground instead of water and rain. Instead of happy children, working farmers, and grazing horses, bodies littered the ground like shells covered the ocean floor. _

_One face after another caught my eye. There was a young man, barely sixteen years of age. And beside him lay an old man, experienced in years and my senior many times over. But both had died; both were pale and ice-cold to the touch._

_I knelt by the side of one particular body, choking back tears. Here lay C__írdan, my sister's fiancée. His eyes, once a dark green, now were closed, never to be opened again. She would never see him again. _

_"Eldarion . . ."_

_The plea was faint, so faint that even an Elf would have barely heard it._

_I hurried to the side of my father. "Father," I choked out. I saw a wound in his side. His armor had completely caved in on that side; no doubt his ribcage was broken. _

_"Eldarion, it's too late." My father stopped me from trying to staunch the wounds. He instead pressed a ring into my hand, pushing it away from the wounds. I stared at him in confusion for a moment before recognizing it. The Ring of Barahir. One of the heirlooms of the Believers. Tears overwhelmed my control as the conclusion, blunt and cold, reached me. _

_My father was going to die._

_"Father, I – "_

_"Do not mourn those who leave," my father interrupted. Pain flashed in his eyes as he spoke his next words. "With the death of your mother and sisters, you are the last heir now. Galadriel's position – it comes to you now." His voice weakened suddenly, and his hand dropped away as his eyes closed._

_My father, Lord Elessar of Gondor, was dead. Now he would join my mother, Lady Kiria, and my sisters, Tinúviel and Estel Elessariel, along with the countless other Believers who had died because of our beliefs._

"Your father did not die in vain, Elessarion," Galadriel said suddenly, breaking into the memory of my father's death. I glanced up at the Lady of Light, who studied me with an air of sadness that was tempered by wisdom. "And nor would he wish for you to forever hold yourself accountable for his death."

I inclined my head, grateful that she had stopped me from dwelling on the subject as I was wont to do. Haldir had played the same role in my life many times as he had become a brother to me as he taught me the skills of the wardens of Caras Galadhon.

"As to Denethorion. . . " Galadriel glanced down sorrowfully at the Man. "He heals. But he must sleep for a while longer. The poison of the wounds has sunk its claws deep into him, and it will take much effort on his part to repel the damage that has been inflicted."

I frowned as I absorbed her words. My original plan had been to rush Boromir to Galadriel, have him healed, and then rush back to join my sister and the others in Rohan. But if Boromir was to require an extended period of rest, obviously this plan would not work.

My frown deepened. Now I was torn between my responsibility to Boromir and my desire to see my sister. This is the very position that all Believers had tried to get away from being squished into – and now I knew why.

_Sister or comrade? Family or friend?_

After learning so much about how Boromir had been seduced by the Ring and had tried to take the Ring from Frodo, I had thought that I would hate the Man the moment I met him. I had watched him with narrowed eyes the whole time I had known him, although I knew that my lord had cast some questioning glances my way for them. But I had not cared. I had not trusted Boromir, and that mistrust had grown when I had witnessed his argument and insulting of my lord.

But Boromir had, slowly, gained my trust. Even after his argument with my lord, he had continued to serve the Fellowship faithfully, and was now lying near death because he had tried to protect some of the Fellowship.

"We will offer Denethorion shelter until he is healed," Lord Celeborn said suddenly, exchanging a knowing glance with the Lady. "And when he is healed, we will send him on his way to Rohan."

I bowed to the Lord and Lady. "Once again, your generosity astounds me," I murmured gratefully. Indeed, I was astounded. They had taken me – a complete stranger – in, sheltered me, taught me, entrusted me with their secrets, and basically treated me as one of their family. In retrospect, I was, in a way, related to them through the Lady Arwen and Lady Celebrían, but that was so distant – and they had perfect reasons to not accept my story.

But they had, and for that I would be eternally in their debt.

Lady Galadriel was watching me with a faint smile when I returned my gaze to her. "It is nothing, my child," she countered softly.

*********

I frowned, scanning my room once more. _What have I forgotten _now_?_ Haldir and the other wardens loved to tease me about how I would always – whenever I left Caras Galadhon for somewhere else – feel as though I had left something behind. I had never met an Elf who had that problem, but, of course, if they did they would not be a warden. Wardens could not be subject to fretting about items left behind when Orcs were roaming the borders.

In any case, as always, I had this nagging feeling that I had left something vital behind. But for the life of me I couldn't figure out what it was. I sighed, frustrated, and crossed my arms over my chest.

And yelped as a fellow warden slammed into me, knocking me to ground.

"Calanon!" I exclaimed in annoyance, scrambling back to my feet. Calanon had been one of the first Elves to befriend me after Haldir had taken me under his wing, and although over five centuries separated us by age, we had grown close.

The golden-haired, green-eyed Elf grinned at me. He gestured around my room. "Leaving? What did you forget this time?" he teased.

I scowled, pushing past him. "Yes, I am leaving, Calanon. Lady Galadriel has granted me leave of Caras Galadhon and my duties."

Calanon grabbed my arm, making me drop whatever I was holding, and yanked me around. "What?" he asked in a low, deadly voice. "What happened? Why are you being dismissed?"

I blinked, startled. I hadn't evoked such a passionate response in Calanon since we had discussed the deaths of our fathers. Then what he was saying dawned on me. "Oh. No, no, nothing like that. My sister –"

"Your _what_?" erupted a voice near the door.

I turned to see Rúmil, one of Haldir's brothers, staring at me from the doorway. Calanon gave me a similar shocked look.

"You have a _sister_?" they asked in tandem.

I burst into laughter as the two Elves threw each other annoyed looks at asking at the same time. Calanon gave me a warning glare, and I stopped laughing so I could explain. "Yes, my sister, Estel. She was part of the Fellowship that Lady Galadriel let enter Caras Galadhon, along with my lord, Elessar Arathornion."

More shocked looks. "You are one of the Dúnedain?" Rumil asked. "I never would have suspected that. . ."

"But now that I think of it, you do resemble Elessar," Calanon said thoughtfully, studying me more closely. "And it would explain your natural skills with a bow and sword if you were a descendant of the Númeoreans."

Rúmil snorted, recovering from his shock about Estel. "If you count my brother as a target," he retorted.

I flushed. _That_ had been embarrassing. Haldir had begun instructing me in archery, and my aim had been so bad that I had nearly sent Haldir to Mandos – unintentionally, and, to the other wardens, hilariously.

The smile faded from Calanon's face as he looked around, seeing all the items that were missing from their normal places. "So you really are leaving?" he asked. Rúmil edged closer, the same question in his eyes as well.

I nodded sadly. "Lady Galadriel says that soon you and all the other Elves will either sail to Valinor or stay behind with Lord Celeborn. I cannot sail to Valinor, so I am going out to find a place for me in the world of Men. In any case, my lord has welcomed me to join the Dúnedain. But for now, I join the Fellowship."

Rúmil's shoulders sagged as he absorbed the words. "You don't mean to return," he stated. All the laughter drained from Calanon's eyes.

I hung my head. Rúmil was always soft-spoken, but somehow he managed to make his words leave more of a lasting impression than even Haldir's loudest orders. And his words always managed to make me feel like a child caught in mischief.

"No," I said with great effort, raising my head to look him in the eyes. "No, I do not plan to return." I raised my voice slightly as Calanon made to interrupt. "The Third Age is ending, Calanon. And when it does, the time of the Eldar will be over. The Lady herself will soon make the journey over the sea, and so will others. Caras Galadhon will empty as your people go either over the sea or to Imladris or other Elven havens that survive. The time of Men approaches, and as kin of the King of Gondor and Arnor, I must play my part. I cannot linger in Caras Galadhon forever whilst my kin fight to save Middle-earth from the dark lord."

Rúmil nodded slowly. "I understand." He looked at me with acceptance in his light eyes. "You are wise for one so young to accept your fate thus."


	21. Chapter 20

Day 4 of my midterm marathon! This chapter opens the beginning of Estel's – and now also Eldarion's – journey into The Two Towers and into Rohan.

* * *

_**Chapter Twenty**_

~ _Estel_ ~  
"A red sun rises. Blood has been split this night."

Legolas's voice startled me out of my reverie. We had followed the Uruk-hai party for more than the couple days my brother had said that we would be apart, and the constant traveling plus the agony of being separated was taking its toll on me. Hope had resurfaced in me when Aragorn had found a cloak clasp that almost certainly came from a cloak of Lórien, but I wondered numbly how far this chase would continue.

Aragorn suddenly stopped, and his expression became that of one far away. I stopped beside him just in time to see Legolas and Aragorn looked first in the distance and then at each other. I frowned and opened my mouth to question what was wrong when alarm suddenly crossed the Elf's handsome face.

Legolas grabbed my arm and yanked me behind some cover as Gimli and Aragorn followed. I turned to face Legolas, intending to question what was going on, but he put a finger on my lips and shook his head, warning me to be silent.

Just then I heard the sound of hooves thundering our way.

What seemed like a whole battalion of riders rode past our hiding spot, kicking up a whirlwind of dust and causing a huge commotion of sound. I shrank back into Legolas's hold, my instinct urging me to stay close to those I could trust. I sensed Aragorn and Legolas exchange looks over my head, and got the distinct feeling that they knew each other so well that they could communicate without words. Legolas tugged my hood up and over my head, silencing me yet again with a shake of his head.

Aragorn stood then, coming out of hiding and startling me by his sudden action. "Riders of Rohan!" he called, getting the riders' attention. "What news from the Mark?"

Legolas, Gimli, and I all emerged out of hiding to join Aragorn as the riders checked their rush and turned to head straight toward us. I felt like I was caught up in an endless whirlwind of riders as they rushed past and around us, forming a circle of horses, Men, . . . and spears.

Spears that were all pointed straight at us.

Aragorn raised his hands much the same way he had when the wardens of Lothlórien had surrounded us. However, in this case, I felt a great deal more fear. I had known that the Elves would not have fired upon us unless provoked, and especially not upon Aragorn – who had been there before – and Legolas, who was one of their kin. The Elves were willing to listen and willing to possibly accept us as allies, even if we did have a Dwarf among our Fellowship and carried the One Ring.

But there was no such comforting knowledge now. The Men would probably be more inclined to shoot Legolas and Gimli, as they were of a foreign race. Elves and Men especially were estranged, as the Men were always suspicious of the Elves' strange ways and haunting beauty.

One of the riders came forward. "What business does an Elf, a Man, a Dwarf, and a woman have in the Riddermark?" he barked, addressing us by race.

I was at first startled to find that he was able to determine my gender, but then I realized that it was obvious to the trained warriors of the Rohirrim. I was not as skilled or as fortunate as the female Dwarves who could more easily hide their gender.

He was obviously the leader of this group. When Aragorn did not immediately reply, he said sternly, "Speak quickly!"

Gimli had apparently been pushed far enough by then. "Give me your name, horse-master, and I shall give you mine," he said.

The leader's eyes darkened, and he handed his spear to another rider before dismounting, never taking his eyes off Gimli. Legolas stiffened almost unnoticeably at my side. Aragorn put a restraining hand on Gimli's shoulder.

"I would cut off your head, _D__warf_, if it stood but a little higher from the ground," the rider said with great disdain.

Within seconds, Legolas had a readied bow pointed straight at the leader. "You would die before your stroke fell!" he warned, his blue eyes burning with an intensity that almost scared me.

Aragorn interceded then, pushing down the bow and giving an almost imperceptible nod towards me. Legolas slowly allowed Aragorn to push his bow down. The rider looked warily at Legolas before Aragorn distracted him.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn," he began, calling the leader's attention to him. He gestured at us one at a time. "This is Gimli, son of Glóin; Elena, daughter of Elessar; and Legolas of the Woodland Realm."

The leader turned his gaze upon me. Any relief or thankfulness I held for Aragorn for not introducing me as Estel vanished to be replaced by fear. Legolas stiffened even more, if that was possible. Aragorn did not visibly tense, but his eyes narrowed. Gimli viewed the whole thing with a question in his eyes that he wisely did not ask.

"Remove your hood," the leader said. I hesitated as my eyes darted to Aragorn, seeking an answer. My eyes flew back to the leader when I heard the rasp of a sword being unsheathed.

I inhaled sharply as the leader pointed the blade towards me. Legolas's eyes clouded with fury, but the leader said softly, his tone filled with menace, "Raise your bow and the ground will be spoiled by her blood." He gave me a dark look. "Assuming you _are_ a woman."

"~Estel?~" I asked quietly, not moving my eyes from the leader as I addressed Aragorn by his Elvish name. I did not want to call him Elessar; the Rohirrim might pick up on that. And calling him Aragorn was kind of pointless for a conversation in Elvish.

"~Do it.~" Aragorn and Legolas replied as one, to my great relief. Now that both had answered, the leader – whoever he was – would remain uncertain as to the identity of the true leader of our group. In case it came to blows, that could be a very useful advantage. Raising my hand slowly, I pulled down the hood.

~ _Èomer_ ~  
The cloaked person questioned something in a strange, melodious language that I assumed was Elvish. I sensed that there was something strange about her. Her tone carried enough confidence, I judged, for her to able to make any decisions on her own, yet she was willing to defer to others.

_That's the kind of behavior Èowyn needs to gain sometimes_, I thought resignedly. My sister was far too interested in the deeds of the Rohirrim for her own good.

The Elf and Aragorn replied as one in that same language, startling me. I had assumed that Aragorn was the leader, yet the Elf had spoken as well.

In any case, the cloaked person was apparently reassured by the response. One hand crept upward and the hood collapsed around her. Dark brown hair spilled out of the hood, cascading over her back like a dark waterfall. Grey-blue eyes met mine with equal determination and wariness. She was dressed in a similar fashion to the Elf, and bore similar weapons, for I glimpsed a bow and quiver on her back.

I heard murmurs from my men. Elena was now a mystery to them, a challenge that begged to be confronted. Èowyn was really the only other woman of true rank in Rohan; now here came another just as fierce and different from the standard, shy housewife. _For starters_, I thought, _both are more interested in the doings of men than that of their own proper gender._

I glanced at the Elf. He was tense, and even though his expression was outwardly neutral, I could see the plain hostility in his blue eyes. But then I noticed that hostility was not the only emotion echoed in those eyes; there was another emotion as well.

Protectiveness?

I glanced inconspicuously at Aragorn, and noted with unease that his eyes to contained the same warning and the other emotion, although these were better hidden in him, and I sensed no hostility from him.

The Dwarf, on the other hand, was completely unaware of the mental battle going on, and gazed on with confusion and interest.

"Is this proof enough for you, Èomer Èomundion?" Elena said suddenly, drawing my attention back to her. "Or will you now claim that you see before you only an illusion?"

I gazed at her, startled that she knew my name. She must have read the question in my eyes. Elena laughed lightly. "Your fame is well known to my people, son of Èomund. Most especially when you leave your uncle's court, never to return under the pain of death."

One of my men spoke up sharply in my defense. "Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over these lands. We who ride under the command of the Third Marshal of the Mark are the only ones now still loyal to Rohan and her people and her king. So do not speak to us with harsh words."

Elena turned slowly to face the rider. "I said no words of any degree of harshness," she countered mildly. "And nor have I said any insult of any degree to your captain. I was merely commenting on the goings on of Edoras's court. Pray tell, what goes on that the only heir to the King comes to be banished? Certainly the king has not fallen so far under Saruman's power?"

I got over my astonishment. "The White Wizard is very cunning. He walks here and there they say, as an old man, hooded and cloaked." I turned to glare meaningfully at the Elf. "And everywhere his spies slip past our nets."

The Elf bristled, but Aragorn cut in immediately. "We are no spies," he assured us. "We track a band of Uruk-hai westward across the plains. They have taken two of our friends captive."

I paused. Èowyn did indeed follow the traits of Men, but I could not imagine her running for many miles just for her friends. And if she would not, most women I knew definitely would not. I eyed Elena curiously for a brief moment, carefully avoiding the watchful and hostile gaze of the Elf. _What would motivate her to do such a thing? And, further more, _how_ could she have done it? Most Men would be exhausted by now._

Aware that the silence was growing awkward, I quickly said, "The Uruks are destroyed. We slaughtered them during the night." I hoped that that would cover my earlier silence.

I needn't have worried. "But there were two Hobbits," the Dwarf spoke up suddenly. "Did you see two Hobbits with them?"

"They would be small, only children to your eyes," Aragorn supplied.

Apparently they were more concerned about their friends than with my silence and curiosity towards one of their members. I was glad for that, but also glad to find out that we shared a common enemy in the servants of Sauron and Saruman.

However, their devotion to small children was such that I feared to deliver the news of their deaths. As I delivered the stunning words, I wondered what her reaction would be. Would she cry and wail? Or would she bear it in silence as most Men preferred to?

"We left none alive." Stunned silence met my words. Aragorn looked shocked as I continued, "We piled the carcasses and burned them." I turned to direct their attention to the smoke rising from a short distance away.

I then turned my attention to Elena. Her eyes were closed and her expression tight, but she was not crying or wailing. I felt a degree of relief. I had no wish to deal with weeping wrecks.

Elena looked up when the Elf put a comforting hand on her shoulder, the hostility fading from his eyes to be replaced with sorrow and concern. I was startled by the open display between the two. I knew that it was highly unusual for Elves and Men and Dwarves to have steady relationships and cooperate willingly, although all of those stereotypes seemed to cease where this particular group was concerned.

"Dead?" The Dwarf's shocked question drew my attention away from Elena and the Elf.

I nodded sorrowfully, sneaking another glance at Elena. She didn't seem about to burst into tears, but I didn't want to cause her any more sorrow than I had too. "I am sorry," I said softly.

Then I turned, whistling briefly. "Hasufel! Arod! Miras!" I called. All three of the horses' masters had been killed in last night's attack. We had been better armed and well prepared, but the Uruks had not gone down quietly.

The horses approached. The Elf caught Arod's bridle as I caught Hasufel's before handing it to Aragorn. "May these horses bear you to better fortune than the former masters," I said sincerely. "Farewell."

I had placed my helmet on and had nearly mounted my horse when Elena suddenly registered once more. Surely, if this party meant to go chasing after hopes and intended to wander straight into Gríma's slimly, detestable hands, the lady would be better off with us, surrounded by many Men and away from Gríma's clutches?

I turned back to the lady, who was facing the Elf. She seemed to be arguing quietly with him, although it appeared that what she was saying was not swaying the Elf, whose face was impassive and tight.

"My lady?"

Elena turned to me. "Yes?"

"I would advise you not to go to the court of Edoras," I said. "Gríma is there, and he will consider you fair game."

Elena raised an eyebrow and interrupted me before I could make my suggestion. "I know," she replied. "But Gríma Wormtongue will suffer greatly before he lays hands on me. Women of Edoras may easily submit to his power, but I am not a woman of Edoras and I will not submit to him."

I was startled to hear Gríma's full name; I knew that I had not mentioned it. "Then who are you, my lady?" I questioned, trying to find another way to politely suggest that she leave her party.

"A daughter of the Rangers of the North," she answered proudly. "I will not cower and flee from Edoras because of Gríma Wormtongue."

I was silent for a moment before I inclined my head and mounted. There was no argument I could use against her. The Rangers were among the most skilled fighters alive – assuming they still existed, of course. Even if Elena herself was unable to fight, her kinsmen would not simply sit by and tolerate her being taken advantage of.

"We ride north!" I called to my Men.

But as we rode away, I couldn't keep my mind on the future Uruks we planned to destroy. My mind was far more pleasantly occupied by this daughter of the Rangers.

~ _Eldarion_ ~  
I sighed as I rose from the ground. After my talk with the Lord and Lady, I had packed and left Caras Galadhon. I had spoken the truth to Rumil and Calanon: I would not return to Lothlórien. I knew, somehow, someway, that neither I nor Estel nor Aragorn would ever come back to the Golden Wood.

I shaded my eyes as I gazed across the plain. For four days I had traveled consistently, striving to make up for lost time and ground, striving to catch up with my sister. If I had been thankful before for Haldir training me to be a warden, now I was even more – in fact, I wasn't even certain there was a word for how grateful I was feeling to him. His training was the only thing keeping me standing right now.

But I still had much more ground to cover. I bit my lip. I knew that eventually, no matter where they wandered or who they met, Aragorn would lead to the Fellowship to Edoras, capital of Rohan. I also knew that right now there was no way I would catch them, unless by some miracle they doubled back, slowed down, or I learned to fly.

_Should I simply make my way to Edoras and wait?_ I had a vague sense of where Edoras was, and going there might be better than simply trailing Aragorn all the way only to trail him directly and end up at his final destination, which would be Edoras eventually. And that feat would exhaust me. Adding it to the fact that soon afterward Edoras would be emptied and the people would make their way to Helm's Deep, I realized that I had no choice – I would have to go to Edoras if I still wanted to be able to stand when I met up with Aragorn and my sister again.

I wished I didn't have to. I wanted to be at my sister's side when she entered Edoras; I didn't trust Gríma at all. I knew that Aragorn would never allow anything to happen to Estel, but I would feel horrible if something happened to any of them. Aragorn was the king, and my lord as the captain of the Dúnedain. And Estel was my sister. If something happened to them and I wasn't there, I didn't think I'd be able to live with myself.

A soft whinny startled me. I spun around, my hand flying to the hilt of the sword Galadriel had gifted to me upon my first departure from Caras Galadhon.

My jaw dropped.

A white horse with a flowing silver mane cantered up to me, gazing at me with intelligent dark eyes. The stallion came to a halt only about a foot in front of me, tossing his mane and nickering. He pranced slightly as I gazed at him, wonder-struck.

I knew at once that this was no mere stallion. No. He was too noble for that. I guessed that he was a _mearh_, one of the _Mearas_ and a descendant of Felaróf.

I raised one of my hands slowly and extended towards the _mearh_. He seemed to consider me for a moment as his dark eyes gazed calmly at me. Then he nickered, prancing closer, and allowed me to rub his nose.

After I had stroked his nose a few times, he pranced away from my touch and shoved me. I blinked in surprise. The manner in which he was approaching me now told me that he wanted me to ride him. But that – that couldn't be. _Mearas_ were intelligent horses; they carried people only so long as they wished and made the choice of who would ride them . . . and who would not. And for many years, ever since Eorl, first King of Rohan, had tamed Felaróf, only had the kings and crown princes of Rohan been the ones the _Mearas_ consented to carry.

The _mearh_ nudged me again. Slowly, a suspicion of who this _mearh_ might be began to creep into me. In all my knowledge of Rohan's horses, only one had consented to carry another besides the king of Rohan – Shadowfax, chief of the _Mearas_.

"Shadowfax?" I asked tentatively.

The _mearh_'s dark eyes seemed to suddenly gleam at me, as if it couldn't wink but was trying to get across that kind of message. I smiled. So, _this _was Shadowfax. He was even more glorious than I had imagined. Just like the light of Telperion and Laurelin, the Two Trees of Valinor, and the beauty of Lúthien Tinúviel, most beautiful of all the Children of Ilúvatar, had surpassed all attempts to capture, the splendor of Shadowfax was too glorious to be described in song or speech.

I inclined my head to the lord of horses. For Shadowfax to choose to allow me to ride him was an honor few received yet many coveted. I could not ignore the fact that Shadowfax was bestowing upon me a rare privilege.

I swiftly mounted him, and at once he began to gallop. First it was a slow gallop, but soon Shadowfax seemed to be racing the wind. It howled in my ears, making my cloak stream behind me as if I were in a parade.

I bent over his neck, urging Shadowfax on. If he continued at this pace, I would be in Edoras in no time.


	22. Chapter 21

Day 5 and the final day of my midterm marathon! In this chapter, reunions start to fall into place as part of the Fellowship is recovered.

* * *

_**Chapter Twenty-One**_

~ _Legolas_ ~  
I felt Estel's shock and dismay radiate through the air as we surveyed the pile of dead, smelly Uruk-hai. She had already killed some Uruk-hai and had certainly seen us kill many more, but never had the killings related to the deaths of people whom we had close connection to.

Assuming, of course, that Eldarion had managed to get Boromir to Lothlórien in time.

Gimli set about digging through the pile as Estel hung back, biting her lip as though she was trying to remember something. But then Gimli raised up a burned object. "It's one of their wee belts," he said.

"~May they find peace in death,~" I murmured quietly.

Aragorn let out an anguished yell as though he had been physically wounded by this stunning knowledge of the death of the Hobbits, falling to his knees in despair. Estel moved quickly over to him, placing her hand on his shoulder.

"Don't mourn them yet, my lord," she said quietly, her gaze flitting across the tree lines. "They still have a few cards left to play for us."

Gimli turned to stare at her. "What are you talking about? They can't have survived this," he exclaimed. "And you heard the Man – they saw no one and left no one alive."

"If they didn't see them in the first place, then they can't have known if they died," Estel replied tartly. "Anyways, they still have much more to do. If they are dead now, then Minas Tirith is as good as doomed."

Aragorn lifted his head to look at her, confused. "Minas Tirith is safe."

"Not for long," she said steadily. Estel turned to look at Aragorn. "Minas Tirith has no defense against the Witch-king of Angmar."

"And the Hobbits will help us in this how?" Gimli demanded. "They are nothing near warriors. They would only be a hindrance."

"Gimli, was that not what the Council said of Frodo?" Estel demanded in exasperation. "Yet now he has become one of the only three who will be gifted the only chances to destroy the Ring at Mount Doom."

Gimli stared in wonder – and a bit of fear – at Estel. "Are you a witch of some sort, one that can see into the future?" he demanded in return.

I shook my head when Estel didn't answer as she still gazed in the distance. "She is a daughter of the Rangers; Aragorn is, in a way, her Chieftain. She is no witch."

Gimli didn't look any more reassured, but just then Aragorn interrupted, saying suddenly, "A Hobbit lay here . . . and the other."

~ _Estel_ ~  
Aragorn knelt on the ground to examine a track. It was a very large one that certainly did not belong to a Hobbit. I heard Gimli suddenly spit out something from behind me before growling disgustedly, "Orc blood!"

Aragorn gave me a worried glance. "These are strange tracks," he said quietly, standing. I shrugged, trying to pretend I knew nothing. In truth, I had a good idea of what had made those tracks. In the old legends, it had been said that Mithrandir had prophesied that the Ents, the care-takers of the forest created at Yavanna's request, would wake up and find out they were strong. And later it had been said that because the aid of the Ents alone was Isenguard destroyed and Saruman defeated. But such things, I knew, should not yet be revealed to the others.

"The air is so close here," I heard Gimli say uncomfortably, waving his arms around. I glanced at the Dwarf, amused by his reactions. _The Elves suffer unbearably underground, and the Dwarves suffer unbearably in the forests. It's as almost if these two kindreds were created merely to annoy each other and be the polar opposites, for Men and Hobbits fare equally well in both places._

But instead of saying that aloud, I replied, "The air is just as close underground, if not more, for in the forests, the air moves on the wind much more than underground, in the dark and cold."

Gimli snorted, obviously not appreciating my point. "I take, then, that you did not like the Mines of Moria?"

I shook my head. "Dwarves may have awoken in mines and call them home, but Men awoke under the sun and Elves under the starlight skies. Our kindreds were not meant to linger and live our whole lives in others' homes."

I suddenly heard low groaning and creaking ripple through the forests, as though a tree was being uprooted and was complaining terribly about it. Gimli hefted his ax without hesitation as Aragorn and Legolas looked around sharply, startled.

"The trees are speaking to each other!" Legolas exclaimed, whirling to face Gimli.

"Gimli!" Aragorn hissed, gesturing to the Dwarf.

Gimli and I stared, confused, at Aragorn. What was going on here? Gimli voiced a "Huh?" that expressed my sentiments perfectly.

Aragorn elaborated, "Lower your axe."

Gimli slowly lowered his axe as understanding flashed through my brain. The trees probably recognized Gimli's weapon, and they wouldn't be too understanding of it. Axes were axes to them, and assurances that Gimli's axe was meant for enemies and not for trees would probably fall on deaf ears.

Legolas smiled faintly at us. "They have feelings, my friends," he said softly, resting a hand on my shoulder and looking fondly over the forest. "The Elves began it – waking up the trees, teaching them to speak."

I smiled back. "~Pity that this tree-loving Elf can't speak to them for us and tell them Gimli's just a big softie,~" I teased. Legolas's smile grew as he processed the words, and he squeezed my shoulder gently, his blue eyes twinkling.

"~Best not tell Gimli that,~" he remarked, laughing gently.

"Talking trees," Gimli muttered from behind us, obviously annoyed that we had reverted the Elvish tongue and that he could no longer understand what we were speaking of.

Which was probably a good thing, considering that he was the subject of our conversation.

"What do trees have to talk about, hmm? Except the consistency of squirrel droppings."

I turned to the Dwarf as Legolas became interested in something else and his hand fell away from my shoulder. "Well, that too," I said neutrally. "But also how open and fresh the air is; how unusual it for so many strange creatures to come in and remark on their forest –"

"All right, all right, I get the point, lass!" Gimli cut in gruffly. "You need not go on and on forever!" But his eyes expressed the laughter he was hiding from me, and I smiled again before pivoting back to the chase, my heart considerably lightened by the merry conversations.

"~Aragorn, something is out there!~" Legolas said suddenly. The air thickened with invisible tension. Even Gimli seemed to understand that something was wrong, even if he could not understand the Elvish tongue in which Legolas spoke.

Aragorn joined Legolas. "~What do you see?~" he asked him quietly.

I frowned. It wasn't like Legolas to be so anxious. But then, when Legolas replied, I realized why.

"The White Wizard approaches."

~ _Eldarion_ ~  
I woke with a start. The sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon, and it was then that I realized that for the first time, I had managed to fall asleep on a horse and actually stay on.

Although . . . that was probably more of a credit to Shadowfax than me.

The _mearh_ was still running, I noticed. But Shadowfax's pace was slower and smoother now, as if the _mearh_ was waiting for some kind of signal as to when to run and where to run.

I shrugged. Well, as long as I was the passenger, Shadowfax really had total control over where I was going. And as I didn't feel like walking all the way to Edoras, I couldn't really tell Shadowfax to do anything.

It was then that I realized that we weren't going to Edoras.

I had been with Shadowfax for four days now; I should have encountered either the Rohirrim or villages by now. But it seemed like everything was deserted; I could see nothing but open plain and clear sky for miles in every direction.

Unless you counted the forest. . .

"Where _are_ you taking me, Shadowfax?" I muttered.

Then a whistle cut through the air, shooting straight to my air like a well-aimed arrow. It seemed to have been the signal Shadowfax was waiting for, for the _mearh_ reared, whinnying in response.

I yelped, clutching at Shadowfax's silver mane and trying desperately to stay on. _Someone just _had_ to whistle now, didn't they?_ I thought in annoyance, barely managing to stay on. It was probably some cowherd or something, trying to round up their stock.

Shadowfax's speed picked up alarmingly now, and I wondered, as the wind roared in my ears and distracted me, where he was going.

~ _Aragorn_ ~  
When at last we had left the forest, I saw Gimli sigh in relief. The Dwarf really had not enjoyed being in the forest. However, Legolas was throwing wistful looks behind him.

Estel met my eyes, nodded at Legolas and Gimli, and rolled her eyes. I smiled. _They really are an unlikely pair_, I thought, agreeing with Estel's silent point.

Mithrandir whistled then, long and piercing. It hung in the air for what seemed like a long time, sounding like a magical plea sent over the plains. I exchanged a confused glance with Legolas. What was Mithrandir waiting for?

Then a piercing whinny rose through the air in answer. I saw a magnificent silver horse appear over the hill, rising like a silver flare under the light of sun. Its strides were smooth and even, and its silver mane and tail shone in the distance.

"That is one of the _Mearas_," I heard Legolas say, his eyes wide. "Unless my eyes are cheated by some spell."

It was then to our collected amazement that a rider slid off the horse when it came to a halt in front of Mithrandir. And that rider was –

"Eldarion!"

Estel, once again, recognized her brother first, and threw herself at him, hugging him so hard that I wondered briefly if he could still breathe. Sure enough, Eldarion gasped, "Estel – air – would – be – helpful."

"Sorry."

Estel drew back, allowing Eldarion to catch his breath and looking apologetic. Mithrandir smiled at the reunion of brother and sister, and a suspicion grew in me that Shadowfax bearing Eldarion to us was not a mere coincidence.

But then Eldarion, who had apparently sufficiently recovered, glared at us. "Who had the _grand_ idea of whistling?" he demanded.

Estel nodded at Mithrandir, whose eyes were twinkling with laughter. "My apologies, Eldarion, if Shadowfax reacted quickly to my summoning," he answered.

"Quickly?" Eldarion snorted, continuing to glare at Mithrandir and not showing the slightest surprise that he was still alive. "He nearly threw me off, Gandalf!"

Estel stared at her brother for a moment. Then she burst out laughing. Legolas, Mithrandir, and I all joined her while Gimli stared at us as though we had all grown three heads apiece.

And Eldarion could only glare at us. "It's _not_ funny!"


	23. Chapter 22

_**Chapter Twenty-Two**_

~ _Eldarion_ ~  
"Edoras and the Golden Hall of Meduseld."

The strong voice of Mithrandir jarred me from the doze I was in. I straightened and gasped, for there before me stood a hill that jutted out from two ice-capped mountains in the distance. Houses dotted the hill, which was surrounded by barriers of wood and stone. Edoras was an amazing sight.

But Mithrandir's next words reminded me that we came not for pleasure, but out of duty that we were to remember this.

"There dwells Théoden, King of Rohan, whose mind is overthrown. Saruman's hold over King Théoden is now very strong."

_Saruman._ The mere mention of the name of the turned wizard made a sour taste rise in my mouth. I had seen little of Saruman's treachery, but his story portrayed him as one of the most powerful of the traitors during the War of the Ring – how the once highest wizard of them all had turned his back and betrayed Mithrandir and the White Council; how he had desired the One Ring for himself and lied to the White Council about its whereabouts after it had fallen into the river Anduin; how he had created the Uruk-hai and set them to destroy the people of Rohan.

I felt sorry for Théoden, actually. It wasn't like one could really defend against a wizard taking over your mind. Especially if you weren't a wizard or Elf or Dwarf, all of whom had natural resistances to being deceived in such a way.

"Be careful what you say," Mithrandir advised. "Do not look for welcome here."

"We haven't gotten a welcome from anywhere since Imladris, Mithrandir," my sister said sourly. "I think we've stopped expecting it by now."

I looked down at her. "What, Lothlórien didn't give you a good welcome?" I asked.

Gimli grunted before my sister could reply. "If you call readied bows in your face a welcome, lad, then I'd hate to see your definition of a good welcome," he muttered.

"Ah. I guess Haldir got a little overenthusiastic," I said.

"A little?" Gimli demanded in an outraged tone.

My sister rolled her eyes.

~ _Legolas_ ~  
Done, I turned back to Théoden, who was watching the scene placidly, not caring that many of Gríma's guards lay inert on the ground, knocked out by Aragorn, Gimli, Eldarion, Estel, and me. He didn't even blink as Mithrandir approached, his staff in hand.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Eldarion pull Estel closer to him. She seemed transfixed by the aging king, her eyes filled with wonder and fear at how great of an effect Saruman had on Théoden.

"Hearken to me!" Mithrandir ordered, coming to stop right in front of the king. He raised his hand, his tone turning reverent. "I release you from the spell."

There was a strange sound, as though for a moment the wind had picked up and was blowing on Théoden. I glanced at Aragorn, but he did not respond. I saw Eldarion's arms tighten around his sister.

Then Théoden started to laugh. It was a strange, almost chilling laugh that made me tense up. I saw Aragorn shift forward as Estel shrank back, her grey-blue eyes wide. The laugh was . . . disturbing. And what made it worse was knowing that it wasn't really Théoden laughing.

"You have no power here," the possessed king sneered, "Gandalf the _Grey_."

Mithrandir's face seemed to set the minute the kind put the emphasis on "Gandalf the Grey". The next minute, he had flung his concealing cloak to the ground, revealing his new status as Gandalf the White.

Théoden gasped, slamming back up against his throne as light filled the room.

~ _Estel_ ~  
I raised horrified eyes to Théoden. The aging king lay slumped in his throne as Mithrandir slowly lowered his staff with a long sigh. The king gave a soft groan and began to fall forward.

The lady yanked herself away from Aragorn, who let go with an expression that almost shouted "good riddance". Running forward, she caught Théoden and eased him upright. I shuddered, unable to imagine that close to the formerly possessed king.

But now a change was coming over the king. His hair, once white and grey with old age, was now darkening to a more golden color. His eyes, once clouded with confusion and blindness, were clearing to reveal blue eyes that focused at once on the lady beside him, who was watching with pure wonder in her eyes.

"I know your face," the king murmured, staring at the lady. "Èowyn. Èowyn." He pronounced her name with a soft reverence, as though she was the only treasure he cared for now.

I felt Eldarion start upon hearing the name of the lady. The Lady Èowyn of Rohan, we both knew, had eventually married the Steward Faramir of Gondor. That was all the more important because, well . . .

Our mother had been descended from Elboron, the first child and heir of the union between Èowyn and Faramir, tying us not only to the royal line of Gondor and Arnor, but also of Rohan.

"Gandalf?" the king breathed in amazement, looking up to see the wizard smiling at him.

_Guess Eldarion and I aren't the only ones getting surprises today_, I thought with a smirk.

"Breathe the free air again, my friend," Mithrandir said affectionately.

Now Théoden rose from his throne, looking so different that if I had seen him before and now, I would not have realized they were the same person. This king looked truly as if he was just awakening from a long sleep. Smiling, I inclined my head to him, he who was the King of Rohan – and one of my late relatives.

"Dark have been my dreams of late," the king said, looking over the hall. Many of his officials were gathered here now, looking at the king with upraised faces filled with awe and wonder. Èowyn seemed to be crying with happiness at his side as tears glittered in her eyes.

"Your fingers would remember their old strength better," Mithrandir began meaningfully, "if they grasped your sword."

One of the guards stepped up the offer the king the sword. Théoden took with slowly, as if scared that he would not be able to hold it. Slowly, slowly, slowly did the sword become parted from its sheath with a metallic rasping sound. And equally slowly did he raise the sword and gaze at its gleaming edge.

And then he looked straight at Gríma Wormtongue.

~ _Aragorn_ ~  
As Théoden raised his blade, I dashed forward and stopped him. He fought me, but I was stronger than him at this moment. I saw a crazed, anger-filled light in his blue eyes as he fought to push me away and kill Wormtongue.

"No, my lord! No, my lord. Let him go," I told him seriously and quietly. "Enough blood has been spilt on his account."

When I was confident that Théoden was not about to attack Gríma, I let go. Then I extended a hand to Gríma. If he was willing to put this behind him, he could be a great asset to us. Since he was a servant of Saruman, surely he would also know some of the plans the old wizard was putting into place. That kind of knowledge would help us immensely.

I sensed the unease of the crowd behind us, but most especially from the ledge behind me, where I knew Legolas and Eldarion were. I could almost smell their tenseness and their readiness to attack.

Gríma looked at my hand for a long time. Then suddenly, he leaped up, yanking a dagger out of nowhere, and sprang toward me, the dagger aimed straight for my heart.


	24. Chapter 23

_**Chapter Twenty-Three**_

~ _Aragorn_ ~  
An arrow suddenly whistled through the air, and with astonishing accuracy knocked the dagger out of Gríma's hand. I looked to my right, expecting to see Legolas with his hands still on his bow and reminding myself to thank him later.

But Legolas's bow was still strung with an arrow, and even he could not reload that fast. . .

Eldarion leaped down at that same moment, still clutching his own bow, his expression murderous. In that moment I clearly understood how thoroughly his father had trained him in the ways of the Dúnedain. He had acted purely out of instinct and loyalty towards me in this moment – and he had probably just saved my life.

"You would _dare_ to attempt to harm him?" Eldarion's voice was deathly quiet, and his eyes glittered with the same dangerous light I had seen in him when Estel had gone missing at Amon Hen. "You dare to – "

"Eldarion," I interrupted calmly. I stared at him until his pale blue eyes left Gríma and met mine. "~That is enough.~"

Eldarion's eyes narrowed, but I raised a firm hand. On top of the fact that he was my future descendant and heir, as I was the lord of the Dúnedain Eldarion had to obey me. Eldarion finally obeyed, inclining his head to me and taking a few steps back.

But his eyes never strayed from Gríma, making sure that the Man knew that any single threatening moment on his behalf towards me would land him a knock over the head or an arrow in the heart.

I turned my attention back to Gríma just in time to see him spit at my feet and take off through the crowd. I saw the way Eldarion's hands clenched around his weapons at Gríma's actions. _I would not be surprised if one day Gríma comes to regret this action._

~ _Estel_ ~  
"They had no warning. They were unarmed. Now the Wildmen are moving through Westfold, burning as they go, every rick, cot and tree." Èowyn's disgusted voice made it quite clear what she thought of these Wildmen as she rose from the girl's side.

Shortly after the burial of Théodred, Mithrandir and Théoden had stayed behind, the former to comfort the weeping latter. The rest of us had withdrawn to give the king some privacy. I did not understand what Théoden was feeling, to lose his only child, but I knew what it was like to lose my family.

Then Théoden had come in, bringing with him two children who bore the message that Èowyn now told the rest of us.

I looked up at my brother, whose lips were tight with anger at Saruman's actions. The attack on both Théodred and the Westfold was, in the opinion of a Ranger, cowardly and dishonest. You did not attack the innocent and the unarmed.

"Where's Mama?" the girl asked, her voice heartbreakingly high and worried. I guessed that the mother had sent her children on ahead, both to send the message and to spare the children the ghastly fate that had most likely befallen her.

"Hush," Èowyn told the child, pulling a blanket around her shoulders.

"This is but a taste of the terror that Saruman will unleash. All the more potent for he is driven now by the fear of Sauron." Mithrandir's voice was ringing, lined with a passion I well understood. But I also knew that no matter what Mithrandir said, Théoden would make the decision to move his people to Helm's Deep.

"Ride out and meet him head on." Mithrandir's suggestion was quiet but empowering. I stared at the wizard as he continued. "Draw him away from your women and children. You _must_ fight." His sincerity was evident in every word that he spoke.

I watched the internal battle in Théoden. Would he change history and fight?

As if to goad him on, Aragorn interrupted, "You have two thousand good men riding north as we speak. Èomer is loyal to you. His men will return and fight for their king."

Théoden stood and walked away from his throne. "They will be three hundred leagues from here by now!" His tone was filled with defeat as he continued, "Èomer cannot help us."

He turned back to Mithrandir sharply as the wizard raised a hand and took a step forward. "I know what is that you want of me," he said, cutting the wizard off and making him stop in his tracks. "But I would not bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war."

I closed my eyes. _So. Théoden will not change history. He will not risk war, yet war will find him ere the end._

"Open war is upon you, Théoden Thengelion, whether or not you accept that." My brother's voice made me open my eyes. I stared incredulously at my brother, who was now facing down the King of Rohan. "The more you deny it, the more likely it will come true, and result in a massacre of all of your people."

I sighed. Eldarion had been raised first a Ranger and then as warden; to him, there was nothing worse than accepting an early defeat when other things could be done. However, I thought that breaking in his new philosophy by using it on the King of Rohan might be going a tad far. And it was made worse by the fact that Eldarion had not addressed Théoden as "Théoden King", as etiquette demanded, but merely as the son of Thengel, as if they were equals.

And they most certainly were not. Well, at least not now.

Théoden came closer, his expression angry. Aragorn rose and placed a calming hand on Eldarion, his gaze warning him not to say anything else.

"Last I checked, Ranger, _I_ was King of Rohan, not you."

I cleared my throat, drawing everyone's attention. "Then what, Your Majesty, is the king's decision for Rohan?"

~ _Saruman_ ~  
"There were five who followed the wizard. An Elf, a Dwarf, a woman, and two Men."

This unexpected piece of information made me open my eyes. I turned to face Wormtongue, my curiosity piqued.

"You stink of horse," I said disgustedly. _But I suppose that can't be helped. He's only a mortal, easily swayed and used. _

"Were they Men of Gondor?" That would fit the description of part of the Fellowship of the Ring I was now hearing about.

"No, from the North. Of Dúnedain Rangers I thought they were."

_You can actually think_, I thought sarcastically.

"Their cloth was spoor. And yet they bore a strange ring. Two serpents with emerald eyes. One devouring, the other crowned with golden flowers."

Flipping through the book, my hand came to a rest on top of a large illustration of the said ring. I knew it had sounded familiar. I read the title with a raised eyebrow. "The Ring of Barahir. So Gandalf Greyhame thinks he's found Isildur's heir, the lost King of Gondor. He is a fool. The line was broken years ago."

I slammed the book shut just as Wormtongue said in a confused tone, "There are two heirs of Gondor?"

I whirled back to Wormtongue as the implications of his statement became clear. "What did you say?" I demanded in a dangerous voice.

Wormtongue shrunk away. "Are there two heirs of Gondor?" he near whispered.

I began to laugh. "Oh, you fool. There is _no_ heir. That line was broken."

"But the ring – "

" – is an old heirloom that must have resided in Imladris all this time," I finished dismissively. I knew where that ring had come from, all right. Elrond Peredhel must have taken it in after Isildur's fall into the Anduin, as he was of distant kin with the fallen king. I had always wondered why I had never gotten the Ring of Barahir along with the _Elendilmir_. "Peredhel could have given it to any Ranger and claimed him an heir."

"But two heirs?"

"Have you been listening to me or not?" I raged, starting to get angry at his seeming inability to accept my statements. "There is _no heir_."

"But if the rings signal they are heirs – "

"Wait." I cut Wormtongue off, stepping towards the insufferable Man. "_Rings?_"

"Both of Men had that same ring, on the same hand, on the same finger," Wormtongue told me. "But one was younger, and obeyed the commands of the elder."

I frowned. That was impossible. There was only one Ring of Barahir.

_What is going on? They can't be two heirs, that line is broken . . . isn't it?_


	25. Chapter 24

**_Chapter Twenty-Four_**

~ _Eldarion_ ~  
"My Uncle told me a strange thing. He said that you rode to war with Thengel, my grandfather. But he must be mistaken."

"King Théoden has a good memory. He was only a small child at the time."

"Then you must be at least sixty. Seventy? But you cannot be eighty!"

I stopped dead in my tracks after hearing the conversation. Turning around slowly, I saw a seeming bemused Èowyn confronting a calm Aragorn.

_Lovely. . . I guess that no one has thought to tell the lady about Lady Arwen_, I thought, surveying the two. The distress on Èowyn's face made it clear that she felt deeply for Aragorn and that she was shocked all the more by the fact that he was over thrice her age.

That would be an issue.

Èowyn was due to marry Faramir, the steward's son, not Aragorn. I didn't think that the Valar intended that part of history to change, even with so many other parts changing because of Estel's presence and my presence here.

Inching closer, I picked up on the next pieces of the conversation.

"You are one of the Dúnedain," Èowyn was saying now, looking at Aragorn in wonder. "A descendant of Númenor, blessed with long life. It was said that your race had passed into legend."

I barely held back a snort. "Legend?" I muttered to myself softly. _If the Dúnedain are legends, then I wouldn't be standing here, would I?_ Looking at Aragorn, I continued, _And neither would Aragorn._

"There are few of us left. The Northern Kingdom was destroyed long ago." Aragorn's voice was still calm, but the tone in his voice made it clear that he wasn't ready to talk about this matter.

"Eldarion."

My sister's voice startled me, and I whirled around. She was standing there with a raised eyebrow, her arms crossed over her chest in a stunningly good imitation of my grandmother. I smiled sheepishly, not sure what to say.

"Eldarion, eavesdropping is _not_ something the Dúnedain are supposed to do," she said severely, nodding at Èowyn and Aragorn.

I thanked the Valar that Èowyn and Aragorn were too far away to hear this conversation, for there was nothing we could have done to conceal the subject matter of this conversation from them. Not even switching to Elvish would conceal this, for Aragorn knew Elvish better than either of us. His years of practice when being raised in Imladris had given him a foundation that not even I, who had lived among the wardens of Caras Galadhon for eighteen long years, could match.

My smile vanished. "He is our Chieftain, sister." Glancing around, I switched to Elvish. "~And you know how important his marriage with Arwen Undómiel is to our future.~"

"~It still does not give you the right to go eavesdropping,~" she shot back, making the transition to Elvish as easily as I had. Then confusion entered her grey-blue eyes as my last sentence registered with her. "~Wait, what are you talking about?~"

I gestured shortly behind me. "~She was talking to Aragorn. She is upset to discover that she is less than one third of his age.~"

Estel's jaw dropped and her eyes grew wide. "Eldarion, that – that can't happen," she nearly whispered, reverting back to our native tongue in her amazement. "Faramir – "

"~I know. _That_ is why I was eavesdropping.~"

I looked over my shoulder. Èowyn was wandering away from Aragorn, who was trying to eat whatever was in the bowl in his hands.

I was startled to discover that I almost felt sorry for the lady. She was of noble birth, yet few could match her in rank in Rohan that she could marry. And Aragorn was not the most detestable Man either.

"~Brother?~"

Estel's soft voice drew me back. I inclined my head to my sister before striding off.

"~Where are you going?~" she called after me.

"~To speak with Èowyn,~" I answered.

~ _Èowyn_ ~  
I wandered away from Lord Aragorn, barely keeping upright from the shock of the revelations. "Eighty-seven," he had said so calmly and nonchalantly. _Eighty-seven!!!_

He was over three times my age. Three!

I sat down heavily some distance away from Lord Aragorn. _He must think me nothing more than a girl enduring a silly, foolish crush_, I thought bitterly. I probably wasn't that much more than a child in his eyes anyway, and my infatuation with him probably was helping his opinion of me.

"My lady? Are you all right?"

The soft male voice made me start. I leaped upright, dusting off my dress almost absent-mindedly and blushing furiously.

It was the young Man who had come with Lord Aragorn. I noticed with a pang that he looked almost exactly like Lord Aragorn. _His son, maybe? He is old enough to have a couple._

"Yes – yes, I'm fine," I stammered.

One of his eyebrows rose. "Somehow, I doubt that," he said firmly. He lowered his voice. "My lord isn't quite the easiest thing to get used to."

I blinked. Not one Ranger, but _two_? "You are one of the Dúnedain as well?" I asked quietly, my voice trembling.

His lips tightened. "I wish," he said ruefully. "I'm not quite ready to assume the full duties of a full Ranger, my lady. Even by the standards of Men, I am young."

"How old are you?" I blushed at my bluntness, and made to take the question back, but he merely shrugged.

"A little over thirty," he said casually.

"Ah. You are indeed young." He was older than my brother, but not as far away from me as Lord Aragorn was.

He shrugged once again. "Maybe. In the eyes of the Eldar, I'm barely a child."

I stared. "The Eldar?" I asked, stumbling over the unfamiliar word. Well, not really stumbling. The word seemed to flow off my tongue; it was just unfamiliar, that was all.

"Ah, forgive me. Sometimes my tongue slips back into the Elvish tongue of my youth. The Eldar are the people of the stars – the Elves."

"You were raised to speak Elvish?"

"Fluently. My whole family spoke it."

I frowned, noting the past tense in which he spoke. "Why do you speak of your family in a past tense?" I inquired lightly.

His grey eyes hardened, and his whole body stiffened at my question. One moment he was calm; the next, slightly scary.

"I mean – if it's something you don't want to talk about – I don't mean to – "

He raised a hand to stop my blabbing just as someone shouted something. I didn't understand the shout, so I assumed that it was in Elvish. This belief was confirmed when he turned and shouted something back in a musical language that sounded suspiciously similar.

When he turned back to me, nothing in his body language indicated that he had been insulted by my questions. He was once again cool, collected, and completely neutral. I could detect nothing of his thoughts or feelings from the mask he wore.

"Excuse me, my lady. I have other business that must be attended to." With those words, he bowed and left me.

~ _Aragorn_ ~  
Opening my eyes from the one of my last happy memories of Arwen in Imladris, I reached up to finger the Evenstar pendant hanging around my neck. "~Trust this. Trust us,~" she had said.

_But how can you trust something when you fear your judgment is flawed?_ I was not at all to be considered impartial in the matter of the fate of Arwen Undómiel. Nor was Elrond to be considered impartial, but as her father he had more of a claim on her than I.

Even if I held her heart, and she held mine.

Releasing the jewel, I stowed my pipe away. The caravan to Helm's Deep was resting now, and many of the warriors – bored and needing something to do – were patrolling as guards. Legolas, Eldarion, and I had all volunteered to help as well.

I let my gaze sweep our area and suddenly frowned. Estel was curled up the fire, a blanket draped over her slender figure. Legolas was lying next to her, his eyes glazed in the open eyed sleep of the Elves. But where was Eldarion?

Squinting in the distance, my eyes finally caught sight of Eldarion. I felt my frown deepen as I studied the young Dúnadan. It was well past the time he should have handed over the watch to me. And it wasn't like Eldarion did not need any sleep.

Eldarion's still figure and neutral expression didn't give away anything about his inner thoughts. His weapons were close by, and he was sitting on the ground as if he wasn't on watch but was just sitting there relaxing. In conclusion, to the outsider, Eldarion was the center of calmness, the symbol of serenity.

Unless, of course, you were a Dúnadan.

I could read his turmoil in his clenched jaw, his tight grip, and his raging blue eyes. I could practically smell his confusion rolling off of him in waves.

Eldarion was buried so deeply in his thoughts that he didn't even start when I touched him on the shoulder lightly. I waited patiently for the young Dúnadan to realize I was there, watching him intently. After a few minutes, I grew slightly impatient that his awareness was so close and nudged his foot.

"~Oh! My lord Aragorn – I – I didn't see you,~" Eldarion stuttered suddenly, jumping in surprise.

I raised an eyebrow. "~No, indeed. I am surprised, young one; you seemed to be well trained the skills of the Dúnedain, yet it took a movement on my side to bring you back to the world.~"

Eldarion flushed in the dim firelight. "~I know. But I am not yet a full Dúnadan; my training ended rather abruptly when I turned fifteen.~"

"~Oh?~" I had not heard this part of his story.

Eldarion's features tightened again, and he looked away, refusing to meet my eyes or answer my implied question. I waited patiently; being raised among the Elves, who had forever to get things done, had fostered in me a patience which I was now using to coax answers out of Eldarion.

Finally, when it seemed that my patience would not pay off, Eldarion shifted and began speaking. "~When I was fifteen, my father and I were on a mission to learn the identity of Strider, from whom our family gained the right to take the throne, when a message came to us that told us that my mother and sisters had perished in a fire. My father was filled with guilt and rage, and he threw himself into fighting our enemies. Eventually, his blindness was his undoing, and he was slain.~"

I watched as Eldarion took a deep breath. No doubt the boy had seen his father die. I felt sympathy rise up in me. My father had died when I had been two years old, but since I had been so young I hadn't remembered it.

"~I was forced to flee in the overgrown forests. There are three now, and each covers a separate area that the stewards are especially scared of – Lóthlorien, Imladris, and Mirkwood. The stewards allowed all the surrounding forests to grow unfettered, because they wished to erase all traces of the Elven havens. But they also have individual fears of each place.~"

"~Like what?~" I was amused by his naming of the Elven havens; no doubt Thranduil would be pleased to learn that his beloved kingdom would become one with the trees, although Lord Elrond would be probably less impressed.

Eldarion looked thoughtful. "~Lóthlorien was said to be the home of an Elf-witch, which of course refers to Lady Galadriel. They don't know, you see, that when Galadriel passed over the sea her power faded from the woods. Mirkwood they fear because of the creatures that come out of it. Estel has just informed me that more of the creatures have recently destroyed Ithilien; the stewards won't recover from that in a while.~"

"~And Imladris?~" I didn't understand what was so scary about Imladris; nowadays it was renowned throughout the Elven realms as a safe haven of sorts – assuming, of course, that you could find it.

Eldarion smiled now. Talking about the Elves always seemed to cheer him up. "~Of all the things the stewards fear, it is knowledge of the past they fear the most. And Imladris is said to be the home for lore preserved there that is lost everywhere else, wisdom dating back even to the Elder Days. They also fear the heirs of Isildur, for it is always said that they were raised there in their youth.~"

"~Ah, I see.~" I had learned from Mithrandir that sometimes storytellers needed to be encouraged, especially when they were reluctant to speak, for it let them know that they had an audience ready to listen.  
Eldarion sighed. "~When I was in the forests, I was swept into the river, and when I managed to get to shore, I found myself not in the same Middle-earth I had left behind.~"

"~Isn't it better here? At least, that was the impression I received from your sister.~"

"~Yes.~" Eldarion seemed to be fighting himself; the turmoil was becoming clearer and clearer in his blue eyes. "~I just – I don't know how Estel can _stand_ this!~" he burst out suddenly.

I raised an eyebrow. "~Stand what, Eldarion?~" Eldarion had been here longer than Estel from all accounts; anything that he was trying to endure because he was here he would have endured longer than his sister.

"~Stand _knowing_.~" He gestured around randomly. "~I can look around, and know or guess the future of half the people here. I can point at him – will he die or live? Will he marry or not? I can 'predict' the futures of half the peoples here, and it makes me feel so . . . so. . . It just _torments_ me. I don't know what I'm here for – what can I change, and what must I not; who must I save, and who must I let die? I just feel so confused.~"

I studied him, finally realizing some of the burden he was carrying. I had known that a haunted look had sometimes crossed Estel's face when she looked at certain people, and reflecting back upon her strange reaction at Amon Hen, I realized how guilty and confused the siblings must be.

I put my hand on Eldarion's shoulder. "~Eldarion, your purpose will become clear to you as time goes by. Do not expect the Valar to give you answers before you know all you need to know.~"

The words did not seem to rouse him at all. I smiled sadly at my future descendant. "~Eldarion, listen to me: if it is any comfort, I did not know what purpose the Valar had for me once. It is no shame to be confused. But do not let it cloud your view of the present; live the present.~"

Slowly understanding crept into Eldarion's pale blue eyes. "~Thank you, my lord,~" he said softly after a long moment spent absorbing my words. "~I fear I have much to learn before I am a full Dúnadan.~"

"~You're still young,~" I retorted.

Eldarion nodded and rose. "~I'm going to get some sleep now. Good night, my lord.~"

"~Eldarion?~" I called after him. He turned gracefully. "~Call me Aragorn.~"


	26. Chapter 25

**_Chapter Twenty-Five_**

~ _Aragorn_ ~  
"Where is she? The woman who gave you that jewel?"

Èowyn's young voice jolted me out my reverie as we walked. I hadn't noticed her coming up to me. _And last night I was scolding Eldarion about not paying attention_.

But Èowyn's words, however innocent, were bringing up a flood of memories. Elrond speaking to me before we left Imladris, urging me to left Arwen go. My refusal of his request. Me trying to leave Imladris unnoticed, but being forced to confront Arwen anyway, and tell her to go, and that I would not return. Arwen's shocked look, and her firm voice telling me to keep the Evenstar.

"My lord?" Èowyn looked uncertain now.

I tried to smile. "She is sailing to the Undying Lands, with all that is left of her kin," I answered finally. I hoped that she did not understand the connotations to Valinor, but if she did . . .

But Èowyn seemed satisfied with my words, for she now turned her attention to someone else. "My lord, who is the other Ranger, the other one who came with you?" she asked, nodding off in the distance.

I looked ahead. Eldarion, Estel, and Legolas were all standing on the hill we were now walking up to. I could see that Eldarion was holding his sister's hand tightly as she laughed about something. I felt a small smile grace my lips at the sight of the three, all just relaxing and being themselves.

"He is Eldarion," I answered. Eldarion and Estel had not asked me to keep their identity a secret, but I supposed that the fewer who knew the better, so I did not elaborate any further.

I looked her at her sharply then as a different thought appeared to me. "What is your interest in him, my lady?"

Èowyn was saved from answering by the screams.

~ _Estel_ ~  
Eldarion suddenly dropped my hand. Startled, I stopped laughing and turned to my brother. He was tense now, and his pale blue eyes were narrowed as he leaned forward. He seemed to be looking for something.

"Eldarion? What is it?" I asked. "Eldarion, answer me!"

I saw nothing wrong. The two guards Théoden had sent ahead seemed fine. . . No, they didn't. The horses were acting strangely, I saw, and the guards were trying to figure out what was wrong. Even from here I could hear their questions.

Just then, some nasty, furry, snarling beast appeared on the rocks and leaped down. My brother shouted something indistinct, stringing and releasing an arrow before the creature could eat either Gamling or Háma. Legolas jumped off the rocks with one of his knives flashing in the sun to finish off the miserable creature and rider.

I followed seconds later, my own bow at hand. Eldarion and I both fired as a second creature appeared over Legolas's head. The weight of our arrows killed both the beast and rider just as Legolas looked up.

Eldarion turned and shouted, "A scout!" to Aragorn, who had appeared over the crest of the kill. Aragorn's eyes widened, and he quickly dashed back down to alert the others.

Eldarion suddenly grabbed my shoulder, turning me about sharply as Legolas rejoined us, his blade dripping with blood. "Estel, listen to me: I want you to rejoin the caravan. Go with them to Helm's Deep. Do not fight with us."

"What?" I exclaimed, staring at my brother. Of all the things Eldarion could have said to me, he had to say _this_? "You cannot be serious, Eldarion! I'm not going to hide again while you and the others risk your lives!"

"Oh, yes, you are," Eldarion snarled, his grip on my shoulders becoming painfully strong. "Even if I have to walk you back to the caravan myself!"

"Eldarion," I began anew, trying to inject calmness into my voice and failing, "you can't be – "

"He is." Legolas's calm voice did not help my rising anger. "Estel, please. Just – Just be safe so we can fight knowing you are safe."

My resistance melted under his firm tone and calm expression. He was right, unfortunately; staying would definitely endanger me and might even hurt them. I hugged my brother tightly, whispering, "Don't you _dare_ get hurt!"

I felt Eldarion smile as his arms squeezed me back. "I won't, sister," he murmured back.

And after a moment's hesitation, I hugged Legolas too. I felt the Elf stiffen with surprise as my arms encircled him, but after a brief second he relaxed and his arms slunk around me in return. For the shortest – and strangest – moment, for the third time in my life I felt safe in someone else's arms – but it was the first time I had felt safe in a stranger's arms.

~ _Èowyn_ ~  
I shouted to the villagers to stay together and move away as the men mounted up and rode away. I watched with sad eyes as Lord Aragorn turned his horse around. My eyes were briefly distracted by the sight of the young woman hugging first Eldarion and then Legolas tightly, saying something fiercely to them. _So . . . sad partings all around, it seems._

But my sadness turned to confusion when Lord Aragorn reined in briefly to clasp the hand of the young female as she walked away from Eldarion and Legolas. I saw him smile gently, reassuringly at her anxious expression before he let go and galloped ahead.

I considered what I knew of the young woman. She had arrived with Lord Aragorn, and with Eldarion, the Elf Legolas, and the Dwarf Gimli. She had seemed close to all of them, save Gimli, as I saw her often smiling and laughing around Eldarion and Legolas.

She was pretty, too, I noticed. Long dark hair fell down her shoulders in a dark cascade so alike to my own blonde hair, yet it seemed to glow with a radiance mine did not. She had glittering grey-blue eyes that reflected an inside light, as if she was forever innocent. In any case, her happiness was infectious. I noticed that more and more of the men were casting her curious glances.

It was then that I noticed that she had joined the caravan, and was walking looking downward, a sad, anxious expression on her face. _Maybe I can get her to tell me more about Lord Aragorn._

"Lady Estel?" I asked, going up to her.

She visibly started at my voice; apparently beforehand she'd been lost in her own thoughts. "What?" she asked. I noticed, with a bit of jealously, that even her voice seemed to contain some unearthly, ethereal quality that set her apart.

"Oh, Lady Èowyn," she said, relaxing. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

_Why does everyone aassume that something is wrong whenever I ask something?_ Brushing off the silent thought, I asked, "Is something wrong with _you_, Lady Estel? You seem . . . uncomfortable."

"You are too," Lady Estel replied swiftly, dodging the question and throwing it easily back in my face. "For your uncle is now in combat, is he not?"

"Yes, well," I said hastily, wondering how she had managed to sense my unease so easily, "you have no such reason to feel such discomfort."

A frown reached Lady Estel's face. "I have plenty of reasons," she murmured, so low that I knew I wasn't meant to hear it.

And with good reason. I had no idea what she meant.

Then Lady Estel straightened. "Your lord and uncle is now in battle back there," she said. "That is one person for whom you care and worry for. I have three to worry about."

"Three?" I echoed. _Who is she talking about?_

"Yes, three. My brother, Eldarion, and my lord, Aragorn Arathornion, are among them," she answered easily.

"Your . . . lord?"

Eldarion being her brother did not surprise me; they interacted too easily, in my opinion, to be anything else.

But Lord Aragorn being her _lord_? Did she mean . . . "father"?

If Lord Aragorn was her father and by extension Eldarion's, it would explain his protective and probing question about my interest in Eldarion.

But it would also mean that I was too late for Aragorn; he had already chosen someone and even had children.

"You mean, your father?" I asked.


	27. Chapter 26

**_Chapter Twenty-Six_**

~ _Estel_ ~  
I stared at Éowyn, giving her my full attention for the first time in the whole conversation. I had only been listening and answering her with distracted, half-hearted sentences, too worried about my brother, Aragorn, and Legolas to pay close attention. I had not seen where Éowyn had been going with her line of questioning, although now I realized I should have. My lack of foresight had led to Éowyn believing that Aragorn was my father.

I barely controlled myself from bursting out into laughter. _Aragorn – my _father_? He acts like it sometimes, and from a certain point of view, he could be considered such. . . _I could not suppress a smile now.

I cleared my throat. "No, Lady Éowyn. Lord Aragorn is not my father. He has been a father figure, most certainly; but in the biological sense, we are only very distant kin."

"Ah." Éowyn looked relieved all of a sudden as she regained her composure. Then confusion marred her expression once more as the implication of my last phrase sunk in. "Only _distant_ kin?"

"All of the Rangers are interrelated," I explained, smacking myself internally for confusing her more. I didn't think it was time for a history lesson concerning the true descent of the Dúnedain – it would only confuse her more – so I merely elaborated, "We are all descendants of Númenor. In any case, my parents died when I was very young, and Lord Aragorn took both my brother and I under his wing to train us the in the ways of the Rangers."

Éowyn blinked in surprise. "Both of you? Why train the both of you to fight, yet not allow you to enter the fight?"

I shrugged, understanding her surprise but not quite sharing it. "It's the minds of men; I don't try to understand them. But I am grateful they trained me; not many would have the patience to try to train a girl."

Éowyn laughed. "I can attest to that. My brother is constantly reminding me that I must conduct myself as noblewomen are expected to behave, now that my cousin is . . . well, dead."

"At least you have the courage to say that," I murmured. _Even after all these years, I still cannot bring myself to say that my parents are dead. I can think, can communicate such to others, but say it? Never._

Éowyn blinked in surprise and glanced at me curiously. "What do you mean by that, Lady Estel?" she asked. But her tone, instead of the politeness and stiffness it had held when she had initiated this conversation, was now filled with genuine concern and curiosity.

The title made me smile at myself. Lady Estel? _I am no lady. If anything, I should be addressing Éowyn as 'My Lady', especially since I know what she will become when she meets the steward's son._

"Lady Éowyn," I said firmly, ignoring her question for the moment. "I think it is time for us to drop our titles and pretenses and address each other normally. After what we have gone and are going through . . . together . . . I believe that it is time to acknowledge that we are no longer just acquaintances, but friends."

A smile lit up Éowyn's expression, a true smile, one that made her beauty intensified by a thousand times. If not for her shining blue eyes and blonde hair, with that smile, for just a moment, I could have believed that beside me stood not Éowyn of Rohan, but Lúthien Tinúviel of Doriath, fairest of all the Children of Ilúvatar.

"Yes," Éowyn said softly. "Yes . . . Estel."

~ _Eldarion_ ~  
"Hey, lad! A little help here would be appreciated!"

Recognizing Gimli's rough voice, I stopped and spun around. I burst out laughing as the forms of Gimli and two Isenguard wolves appeared to me. Gimli frowned furiously at me from where he was buried under two enormous and stinking carcasses, clearly not appreciating my laughter.

Still chuckling, I leaned down and heaved. The creatures on top of Gimli didn't even budge or flinch. _Of course they haven't flinched; they are _dead, I scolded myself. I threw myself against the top wolf, and finally it rolled off. With that one gone, it was short work between Gimli and me to shove the other creature off.

"Thanks, lad," Gimli growled before rushing off to deal with some of the injured wolves that were still growling. I smiled at his retreating back as he sunk his axe deeply into a felled Warg, whose wounded cries abruptly cut off.

Then I shook myself and sheathed my sword. My time would be better spent now helping the wounded than daydreaming.

Just as I had handed off yet another person to the medics who were getting the wounded on horses, I heard a shout of "Aragorn!"

My head jerked up. I frowned. Legolas's head was swinging back and forth as he looked for Aragorn, so I guessed that it was he who had called out. Gimli and Théoden also started looking around after hearing Legolas's shout.

"Aragorn?" Gimli echoed Legolas's cry, but even with the combined power of two shouts – to which any sensible Man would have responded to – there was no answer. I saw others take up the shout, calling for the Man who was Isildur's heir and the last hope for Middle-earth.

The same Man who my Chieftain.

Fear began to rise up within me when our calls still yielded nothing. There was nothing, absolutely _nothing_ that should have prevented Aragorn from hearing and responding to us. Nothing, save –

Just then, the form of a coughing orc manifested in front of my eyes, shocking my out of my unpleasant thoughts. It had been dealt a death wound, I could tell, and would not live for much longer. But what angered me the most was the unmistakable insignia of Saruman upon it; this one, I knew, had been the commander that had orchestrated this attack.

At the sight, I felt rage as I had never known since my father's death rise up within me. Red haze clouded my vision. A buzzing that blocked everything else out sounded in my ears. Because of this – this creature – this _monster_ – we may have lost Aragorn.

I reached for my sword. _You will pay for what you have done._

A strong hand closed over mine, and pulled it away. Filled with anger, I spun around. The whole world seemed to spin to a halt when I saw not an enemy, but an ally.

Legolas's expression was neutral and impartial as I'd ever seen an immortal carry, but in his eyes raged a fire that shocked me out of my anger – it was somehow twice as scary as even Lord Celeborn had been.

In that moment, it was like I knew without a doubt that Legolas was one of the Firstborn – the rage in his eyes spoke of thousands of years of experience.

"~Stay your hand, Eldarion,~" he said softly.

Gimli approached us and hefted his axe over the orc. "Tell us what happened, and I will ease your passing," he growled.

"He's – dead," the orc said, coughing and laughing at the same time to produce a strange, choked, wheezing sound. "He took a little tumble off the cliff."

At once, I ripped my arm out of Legolas's now loosened grip and seized the orc. "How dare you say something like that?!" I spat, enraged. "You lie!"

The orc gave one last laugh before I felt the life leave him. Disgusted, I dropped him and stormed over to the cliff the orc had indicated. My eyes widened as I stared down it. The sheer drop of cliff made my heart sink.

_No one could have survived that_, a part of me whispered.

"Eldarion." Legolas appeared by my side. The fire in his eyes had vanished – to be replaced by sorrow. He held out his hand. I squinted at it before shock coursed through me once more.

_The Evenstar. Oh, Valar, no!_

Legolas's hand closed over it after he saw that I had recognized it, hiding it from my view. But the sight of it was burned into my memory – Aragorn's most treasured possession, now ripped from him as hope of his survival was being ripped from us.

"Get the wounded on horses." Théoden's voice startled me. I hadn't noticed the king coming up to us. "The wolves of Isengard will return. Leave the dead."

My head shot up and I stared at the king of Rohan. _Leave_ the dead? Aragorn is – no, _was_ the last hope, the last heir, the very last of his line. Leave _him_ for the scavengers to feast on?

Théoden put his hand gently on my shoulder, sensing my despair. His eyes were filled with sadness and sympathy, but it did not to assuage my feelings. "Come," he said softly. "I am sorry."

Then the king turned away, leaving Legolas and I standing at the edge of the cliff. I closed my eyes, barely preventing the tears from spilling out.

_I failed you, Father._

After all of my training, after everything I had learned, I had failed the ultimate test. I had let everyone down. The ultimate duty of the Believers had been to keep the memory of the Kings – and by extension them themselves – alive. And now, the last king had died on my watch.

For a single moment, I stared down that drop that had been the death of my Chieftain and considered ending it all. It would be so easy – just one more step and I plunge into the void as he had. I had failed in everything and failed everyone I had sworn to protect – what was the point in continuing? I had even failed my own sister.

The thought of Estel made all of my plans sink into darkness. I had promised Estel to return. And she needed to know about the death of Aragorn – I couldn't let her find out any other way from anyone else. As the leader of the Believers, by our laws, responsibility for what do to now was Estel's right and burden.

I took a deep breath and stepped carefully away from the edge of the cliff. "How are we going to tell her?"

Legolas's eyes darkened immediately and his hand tightened over the Evenstar pendant. He didn't need me to tell him of whom I spoke.

"I don't know."


	28. Chapter 27

**_Chapter Twenty-Seven_**

~ _Éowyn_ ~  
I closed my eyes and sighed. _So little._ We had barely managed to take with us a fourth of the provisions we would need. And I doubted that we would be returning to Edoras anytime soon to get any more.

Estel was smiling encouragingly at me when I opened my eyes once more. I could tell that the smile was a bit forced, but I appreciated her effort nonetheless. It was more than I could do, in any case. "We'll manage somehow," she said.

I couldn't help but smile back at her youthful confidence. "I most certainly hope so, otherwise our people will be hungry. The warriors most of all." _Assuming any live to come here._

Estel rolled her eyes as we walked away. "They are warriors," she said dismissively. "If they fend out the wolves of Isenguard, they can do a little hunting. They can get their own food."

I laughed, feeling slightly better. "I do not know if they will content to lower themselves such, Estel," I replied, relishing in the ease with which we conversed now. Always had I felt that I was missing something when I was growing up, but I had buried it deep inside and instead put forth my energies in learning how to fight. Now I knew what I had been missing – just some other women for company.

Estel's eyes suddenly gleamed mischievously. "They will, if they want to have access to bread and clothing, for unless I am much mistaken we are responsible for those divisions."

I burst out laughing, not caring that some of my people stared at me. "Estel – you – you certainly have a sense of humor," I choked out once my laughing fit had subsided.

Estel shrugged. "I was raised among the stoic Elves and grim Rangers," she pointed out. "If I didn't have a sense of humor, who else would make them crack the ice and act like normal people for once?"

But before I could think up a response to Estel's joking, a sharp clamor arose at the gates. Estel and I rushed as one towards it just in time to hear shouts. "Make way for Théoden. Make way for the King!"

I shared an elated and relieved look with Estel before we both broke into a run. Moments later we were stopping in front of the warriors, all of whom were dismounting. I felt sadness rise up within me as I noted that barely anyone was uninjured.

"So few," I breathed, glancing around. "So few of you have returned."

My uncle's face tightened momentarily before he replied curtly, "Our people are safe. We have paid for it with many lives."

I bit my lip. _You have indeed paid with many lives._ I could see that we had lost more a few riders in this assault. My uncle turned away to help some of the wounded dismount. I set my jaw and turned around, eager to find Aragorn.

"My lady?" Gimli's sad voice caught my attention. I lowered my searching gaze to him. _He would know where Aragorn is._

"Lord Aragorn," I said, "where is he?"

At that, the Dwarf's steady expression seemed to waver. His voice did too, when he answered me a moment later – "He fell."

I gasped. _No. . . _How could he, of all the warriors, have fallen? Aragorn wasn't even a son of Rohan! And yet he had sacrificed his life without hesitation to defend our people.

Turning, I raised my gaze to find my uncle. He met my gaze with a sorrowful expression, as if to say, "So you know now."

_Estel._

Estel popped into my mind suddenly. I had only known Aragorn for a short while, and yet already I was mourning his death. What would this be like for Estel and Eldarion, the two he had been a father to?

~ _Estel_ ~  
I ran up to my brother as soon as he had dismounted. I saw the sorrow in his expression, but brushed it aside for now – it was probably his sadness at having to fight. Eldarion had never liked to battle, even though he excelled at it.

"Thank the Valar you have come back safe," I breathed as I threw my arms around him. He returned the embrace immediately.

I drew back, smiling at him. Relief – sweet, glorious relief – was sweeping through me. Family and friends meant the most to me now, as they had to every Believer before me. To see Eldarion safe was worth all the pain we had endured during our years of separation. Legolas appeared silently by my brother.

My smile grew at the sight of the Elf. Family and friends meant the most to me, and I had suddenly realized just before the battle that my definition of my family had grown exponentially since I had been dropped into this place. Even before I had realized that Eldarion was alive and well, my definition of family had been growing. First Lord Elrond, and then others – Mithrandir, Arwen, Legolas, Aragorn. . .

_Wait, where is Aragorn?_ I hadn't seen him with Théoden – I had left Éowyn with the King to find Eldarion. But by all rights, Aragorn should have been by Théoden, helping prepare for the coming battle.

Frowning, I cast a glance at Legolas. Legolas usually was always right on top of Aragorn; rarely were the two apart. And Legolas's years of experience, which far outreached all the rest of ours put together, could be instrumental in the defense of Helm's Deep, so the two of them should have been speaking with Théoden.

"Eldarion – Legolas, where is Aragorn?" I asked.

My brother stiffened immediately at my question, and I saw the two share a sorrowful glance. My frown deepened. Legolas should not be bothered as Eldarion was about battle – and sorrow should have nothing to do with Aragorn anyway.

"Estel." My brother drew a deep breath. "Estel, Aragorn is not here."

"Where is he then?" I demanded. "The battle is _here_ – we need Aragorn _here_, not off somewhere else!"

"No, Estel, you misunderstand him," Legolas cut in when my brother seemed unable to elaborate. "Estel – Aragorn will not be coming here."

"Where is he going then, if not here?" I asked irritably. _Elbereth above, Aragorn – you are my family, but you can make the most addled decisions._

"He is going to the Halls of Mandos," Legolas said softly. "To pass beyond the circles of the world to a place the Eldar know not."

"That's lovely," I said sarcastically, not appreciating them playing a joke on me with a battle hanging over our heads. "Now would you two stop playing your jokes and give me a straight ans – "

I stopped mid-word as I saw that Legolas and Eldarion were perfectly serious. They hadn't started laughing or smiling – their expressions hadn't even twitched. They were serious.

But if they were serious in what Legolas had said, then that meant –

"Please tell me this is a joke." My voice cracked and trembled as I forced out the words beyond suddenly dry lips. "You can't be serious."

"I am afraid that we very much are."

Legolas's words seemed to linger in the air long ago he spoke them. They made me realize just how much it was costing the Elf to speak these words to me – it sounded almost as though he was ripping the words from his chest.

I turned and fled from them. My mind was screaming at me that this couldn't be real, that this couldn't be happening to me, to us. Aragorn was the only heir left in all of Middle-earth – how could he have died?

If the Valar had intended for Eldarion and me to live anew, then why had they killed the Man who was our ancestor?

~ _Legolas_ ~  
I seized Eldarion's arm as he made to follow his sister. "No, don't follow her," I told him softly as Estel's figure vanished from sight.

"She's my sister!" he snapped, fighting to pull away. "And the leader of the Believers! By blood and right, it is her duty to – "

"She needs time – time to be alone. Eldarion, you've had the whole ride here to come to terms with – with this." I heard my voice waver as I evaded mentioning Aragorn, but pushed it out of my mind. "Estel has had a few minutes. Give her time before you approach her."

Eldarion stopped fighting and sighed. "This hurts." At my confused look, he elaborated, "It hurts to know that my sister is hurting and that I can't even help her. She's all I have left, Legolas. Estel is it. Estel is my whole world right now."

I nodded. Eldarion needed to talk now, just as Estel needed time. I found it hard to understand the bond between the two siblings, as I had none of my own, but I knew that the bond was strong. I remembered Aragorn explaining their story to me, and I knew that if I'd lived for almost half my life thinking everyone was dead and then found one survivor, I'd cling to that remaining person with everything I had in me.

Eldarion was silent then. "I'd better help the wounded," he said finally. "The wardens taught me some healing skills."

"And we will need everyone we can get," I agreed. It would be good for Eldarion to do something constructive – it would take his mind off the pain. And it would help us, too.

Meanwhile, I felt it time I had a talk with Estel Elessariel.


	29. Chapter 28

**_Chapter Twenty-Eight_**

~ _Estel_ ~  
I stared over the wall, but I didn't see anything. I knew that the flag of Rohan flapping, but I didn't feel the wind that was pushing it. I knew that the armory was just below me, but I didn't hear it. I knew that I leaning on a cold stone wall, but I didn't feel that either.

My mind was racing over everything that had happened to me. Falling over the cliff. Waking up in the care of Lord Elrond. Attending the Council of Elrond. Traveling with the Fellowship of the Ring. Getting to know Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin, Mithrandir, Boromir, Gimli, Legolas, . . . and Aragorn. Entering Lothlórien and gasping at its beauty. Being reunited with my brother. Fighting against Boromir, and then against the Uruk-hai. Seeing the Fellowship break apart, and bidding farewell to my brother . . . again. Running for days and nights until we entered Rohan. Encountering first Mithrandir, and then Eldarion. Meeting Théoden, and then Éowyn. And now . . . now _this_.

My heart sunk as I realized that I had arrived at the news of Aragorn's . . . death.

I felt the urge to let out a rather bitter laugh. I had dealt with the death of my family members so many times – my father, my mother, my aunt, my uncle, my grandmother, my sister – that often, when I'd had time to myself, I had secretly wondered if the loss of one or two or three or a hundred more could hurt me anymore – if it could hurt me at all.

Well, now I had my answer – _the pain was overwhelming_. It was like every little pang of regret and pain and longing I had experienced for every other member of my family rolled into one, gigantic, crushing blow of reality.

I was human. I was mortal. I could die any day, any minute, _any second now_.

I slammed a hand down on the wall. But no! Instead, I kept living, kept feeling, kept knowing that I had lived because others had died.

I fingered the Elessar. It was the token that had become Aragorn's namesake. It was how the people had recognized their King. And it was a reminder that even though Aragorn was dead, he would have . . . he would have wanted us to know that he'd only died so we could carry on when he couldn't.

I closed my eyes. _So it comes to this._ Aragorn had had no children or siblings of the sort. He had died without leaving behind an heir of any kind. So, by blood and right and ceremony, the decision of what to do next fell to me, the last leader of the Believers.

I could not – no, _would not_ take Aragorn's throne. No, that was Eldarion's right. He was the lawful male heir, second to me only because he hadn't been around when my grandmother had died and so she had been forced to choose me.

Yes, that was right. If we survived this mess, Eldarion would be the one the people looked to as a leader. Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn – they would support Eldarion. He did have claims to the throne by blood, as a descendant of Aragorn. And the Dúnedain would not question Eldarion if Lord Elrond stood behind him.

I sighed. I would have to find Eldarion and Legolas now, and apologize for my abrupt departure. I was kind of surprised that Eldarion would just let me go, although Aragorn's death probably hurt him as much as it hurt me. And anyways, this time alone had been good for me. I had needed some quiet place to reflect on everything.

I turned around and jumped at least three feet in the air. For there, watching me with a sad smile on his face, was Legolas.

~ _Legolas_ ~  
I sensed the anger drain away from Estel as she regained control over herself. I smiled. Giving Estel time to reflect and be by herself had been exactly what she had needed. If there was one thing I had learned around mortals, it was that because they didn't have forever, they hurried through everything. So, as a result, they often needed alone time.

Time which people like Estel and Eldarion didn't really get that often.

Then Estel turned around and jumped at the sight of me. I could practically taste her surprise as she fought to regain her composure. I offered her a sad, small smile.

"Legolas," she breathed. Then she regained control. "~You know, one day you're going to give me a heart attack.~"

I chuckled, and easily joined her in the Elvish tongue. "~Well, if I haven't done it by now, I would think that you would get used to it.~"

She scowled. "~You get used to almost always turning around to find an Elf hanging over you and let's see how well _you_ fare!~"

My smile widened. Estel really had recovered. That was good. "~How are you feeling?~" I asked, knowing that she would understand the implied question.

She did. "~I feel . . . hurt,~" she murmured. "~All my life people have died for me. And now the most important of all of us has gone and fallen. It makes me wonder . . .~"

"~Wonder what?~" I prodded as she trailed off.

She waved it aside with a shrug. "~Just random thoughts. Where's my brother?~"

"~Off with the healers, trying to heal the men enough that they stop bawling,~" I said distastefully. I had gone with Eldarion at first; my knowledge of healing was greater than his because of my experience and I'd thought I would help or watch. But eventually, the noise and complaints had grated on my nerves so much that I rolled my eyes and given up.

Estel laughed softly. "~I see. And the King?~"  
"~Closeted up with his councilors,~" I answered. "~But don't ask me why, because one, I haven't the faintest clue, and two, you probably know why anyway.~"

The happiness drained from Estel's expression. "~Yes, I know. An army from Isenguard is on the way here. We'll get a warning soon enough.~"

"~From Isenguard?~" I repeated, surprised. "~Saruman would dare to go that far?~"

Estel nodded. "~Yes. Without Gondor's aid, he believes that Rohan cannot defeat his army. And with Rohan out of way, he's got a clear field to crush Gondor between Mordor's forces and his own. Either way, we lose.~"

"~Wonderful. Just what I wanted to hear.~" I sighed. "~Are you planning to tell the King all of this, or are you just going to let him walk outside on patrol and see the army at our throats?~"

"~No, I won't tell him. Eldarion won't either, and neither should you.~"

"~So I should just let him find out the hard way?~" I asked sarcastically.

"~A messenger will come and tell the King soon,~" Estel explained. "~The King will find out before nightfall tonight.~"

"~Oh? A messenger? The King closed the gates. No one has gone in or out, Estel.~"

Estel frowned. "~That's strange. But someone's going to come. I just know it.~" She spoke with the calm assuredness of my people . . . which did not help my mood. Calm assuredness merely meant that she _believed_ it would not – it did not mean it would happen. After all, who knew how many things had been upset by the arrival of Estel and Eldarion?

I sighed. "~I'll wait until a few hours before sunset,~" I said wearily. "~If no messenger arrives by then, I'll tell the King – ~"

Abruptly a horn sounded, startling the both of us and interrupting my sentence. "A rider is approaching!" someone shouted. "A rider!"

At once, other shouts sounded. "Tell the King!" "Barricade the gates!" "Identify that rider!" And a bunch for other meaningless shouts that simply annoyed me. My hearing was far greater than these mortals, and their shouting was starting to get on my nerves.

"~I take it you're going to meet with the rider?~" Estel asked as we strode away.

I nodded shortly. I wouldn't be fooled as easily as Men by the Dark Lord's servants, assuming this was one of them, and I had quicker reflexes to deal with him – or her, as the case may be. "~I'll go and see what they have to say, and I'll take them to the King myself – just to be sure,~" I replied. "~And you?~"

"~I'll go to Eldarion. He probably hasn't heard the shouts.~"

I nodded again. That sounded reasonable. "~Stay out of the fighting,~" I cautioned her as she separated from me. "~Your brother won't thank me for letting you get hurt on my watch.~"

Estel just rolled her eyes and hurried off.


	30. Chapter 29

**_Chapter Twenty-Nine_**

~ _Eldarion_ ~  
I eyed the bandage, and decided that a couple more wrappings wouldn't hurt. Besides, with a battle approaching, they would need to heal as fast as possible without the risk of infection. I reached for the wrapping . . .

. . . and scowled deeply as the wrapping revealed itself to be shorter than I thought. With a sigh I turned to get more. Then I started in surprise when two hands was suddenly already there, wrapping a new clipping of cloth around the wound. Estel brushed her fingers over the now finished bandage, and told the man softly, "Well, this is all set. Try not to move too much now."

"Yes, please don't," I added dryly, trying to cover up my shock of Estel's sudden manifestation. "I would hate to have to wrap you all up again."

The man smiled. "I'll try to settle," he promised. "You Dúnedain certainly work wonders, don't you?"

Estel blinked in surprise. "How did you know?"

His smile widened as he turned his head to take in my sister's appearance. Her head was cocked slightly to the side, her question echoed in her warm grey-blue eyes. I smiled wryly. Try as my sister might, she could never quite conceal the beauty that was inherited from our bloodline.

"My father served with King Thengel when I was a mere boy," the man explained. "I saw and heard how much of a difference the Dúnedain made when they joined forces with us. You are indeed a force to be reckoned with."

"Thank you for your kind comments, sir," I said. Despite everything that had recently happened, I felt a twinge of gratitude creeping in. Men had not yet forgotten what the Dúnedain were capable of doing.

"Thank _you_ for wrapping me up," he countered.

I turned to my sister as we walked on to the next man. "~Are you all right?~" I murmured softly, careful to switch to Elvish to avoid eavesdroppers from picking up anything. Yes, the riders of Rohan were impressed with the Dúnedain – but that wouldn't stop them from gossiping about us. And the less stuff they had to talk about, the better.

Estel nodded. "~Legolas spoke to me. He also told me not to do anything dangerous on his watch, or else you would . . . well, you know what I mean,~" she concluded hastily.

I grinned. "~Of course I do. I _am_ the one who warned him, after all.~"

Legolas was growing closer to the two of us, I had realized. A lot closer. Just as he had befriended Aragorn, he had befriended us, and I was coming to realize how nice it was to know that I could leave her alone with someone else and not have to worry.

My sister turned to business. Through our soft bantering, she had acknowledged that she had recovered and moved on, and I, through returning it, had accepted that.

"~By the way, a messenger rode up not too long ago,~" she informed me. "~I expect that Théoden will start preparing for battle soon.~"

I frowned. I hadn't heard anything. "~Then I'd better get ready too. Théoden will need all the help he can get against this army.~" Estel and I both knew of this battle – the Battle of Helm's Deep, one of the turning points in the war. But we also knew of what we would face: an army of ten thousand strong, all determined to destroy us.

"~If that is your decision, my brother, then we had better go to king now,~" Estel said wearily. "~The messenger should already be there by now.~"

~ _Aragorn_ ~  
I sighed as Théoden walked away from me and began preparing for the army. _He is as stubborn as his father._

I couldn't really blame him, though. Gondor had withdrawn in unto itself as the years had gone by, and there was no sure way to make the stewards send us aid. Mentioning me, as the true heir, as being behind the message probably wouldn't help our cause either.

"~I am glad that you are back, Aragorn,~" Legolas said from my side, drawing my attention. "~But it would be good for the others to know that too, you know.~"

I frowned slightly. _The 'others'? Who is he talking – oh._ The realization hit me with the force of a stampeding troll. Estel and Eldarion.

All of sudden I was worried, and the source of my worry was not the approaching army determined to destroy us. How had Estel and Eldarion taken my supposed death?

"Are they all right?" I asked urgently, foregoing Elvish.

Legolas's eyes narrowed slightly as he caught my switch in language. "~They took it hard, Aragorn,~" he said seriously and slowly, as though he really wanted me to understand every word. "~For a time, Estel was convinced that her coming was the reason for your death.~"

I stared at him incredulously. How could the coming of Estel affect me? _I_ was the one who had decided to jump at the Warg anyway, not her.

Legolas sensed my unspoken question. "~Estel felt that her coming upset the balance. With her around, you aren't the only heir anymore. Her descendants and even Eldarion are also candidates for the throne.~"

"~That's ridiculous!~" I exclaimed. "~How can she – How could she – ~" I trailed off. I just couldn't put my amazement in words.

"~You had better speak with them, then,~" Legolas prodded, using that serious and slow tone again. He nodded at a point over my shoulder. "~They're right over there.~"

I turned around, and sure enough, Legolas's Elven sight stayed true. Eldarion and Estel were speaking with Théoden. Eldarion had put away most of his weapons, with only his bow and quiver remaining. His hands were clean, though, suggesting that he had been with the healers. Estel herself carried no weapons, although I knew that she was more than capable of doing so.

As I watched, Théoden moved away from the two siblings. Eldarion turned sharply to his sister, and began telling her something calmly but seriously, rather in a similar way to Legolas's earlier tone. Estel immediately fired back with something else, to which Eldarion tried to override her.

I sighed. I had better go break up their argument before either said something they would regret. In any case, I owed them that much.

~ _Estel_ ~  
I watched in frustration as Théoden walked away from us. No matter what we said, the King had brushed it off, muttering to himself about what had to be done with an army approaching.

Eldarion rolled his eyes and muttered something in Elvish under his breath. I chose to ignore it; no doubt I really didn't want to know what he had just said.

Then he turned to me. "Estel, I'm going to the armory," he said. "They will need everyone they can get to help."

"What? Why?" All of the weapons my brother possessed were of Elvish make; they would not need sharpening or caring by Men. "Your weapons – "

" – are fine," he finished. Then Eldarion lowered his voice. "~But they will need help forging new weapons for those Théoden calls to arms, my sister. I can help there for a while before I go and prepare for battle.~"

I nodded. Rohan was a country of horse-masters, but not everyone could afford to carry weapons and armor. However, those last two things might very well be the only thing that could get them on slightly equal footing with the Uruk-hai army.

"~I'm going to visit the healers,~" I said. Eldarion didn't need to know, per se, but I knew from experience that he would like to know where I was. "~I can help prepare what materials will be needed to stitch everyone back up after this battle before I go to prepare.~"

Eldarion stared. "What?" he spluttered. It was a mark of how greatly he was surprised that he slipped out of Elvish. I watched as my words sunk in. Understanding flashed across my brother's face swiftly and darkly, like an ashy, poisonous storm cloud rolls out of Mordor.

"~No.~"

I sighed. "~I am able to defend myself, Eldarion, and as you said, we will need everyone we can get.~"

"~_No_,~" my brother snapped. "~I will not allow you to fight, Estel. It is too dangerous!~"

Anger rose in me, anger equal to his. I was no helpless, dithering damsel in distress. _Noblewoman I may be, but a warrior as well. I haven't learned how to fight for nothing._

"~I gave in last time, Eldarion, and look what happened!~" I shot back.

My brother winced as that blow sunk in; it _was_ rather low of me, I knew. But if it got my point across faster, all the better. But it didn't sink in, apparently, for my brother opened his mouth to argue a bit more.

"~_What_ happened last time?~" a strong male voice asked mildly from behind us.

I whirled around, my mouth dropping. I knew that voice, I knew that presence. But it couldn't be, it just _couldn't_ be –

"Aragorn!"

I flew at him, seizing him so tightly in a hug that I felt him stagger backwards a step or two, caught off guard. I heard a musical laugh and glared at Legolas, who had appeared silently on the scene as he was wont to do.

Eldarion was just recovering from his own shock when I released Aragorn, who was grinning broadly at the both of us. "But – How – How did you survive the fall?" he spluttered, clearly amazed.

"How should I know? I was unconscious, remember?" Aragorn pointed out. "The point is, I _did_ survive it, and here I am."

"~You also gave us a heart attack!~" I burst out, glaring darkly at him. "~For a time I was convinced that I'd have to return to Imladris and tell Arwen you died on our watch!~"

Legolas burst out into peals of more musical laughter as Aragorn had the guts – or the sense, depending on how you looked at it – to look sheepish, which was quite an achievement for a Chieftain of the Dúnedain who was also Lord Elrond's foster son.

Eldarion strode forward, and he and Aragorn clasped each other's shoulders in the traditional Elven greeting as I silently fumed away any remaining anger. Mad as I was at Aragorn, my love for him was stronger than my anger, and I knew that Aragorn still carried my loyalty despite this stunt.

"~Now, what were you two arguing about?~" Aragorn asked, his eyes betraying his curiosity. From the amused expression on Legolas's face, I knew that Legolas had made Aragorn feel guilty about his stunt already, so I let the subject drop.

Eldarion hesitated. Neither of us knew which side Aragorn would side with.

"~I do not want Estel fighting with us,~" he confessed finally. "~It's bad enough that she's on this quest, and even worse that she's here at Helm's Deep.~"

Aragorn raised an eyebrow. "~You feel that your sister can't defend herself?~"

"~I do not wish the situation to ever arise,~" my brother returned steadily.

Aragorn sighed. "~But one day it will arise, Eldarion. You cannot babysit your sister forever, and I doubt she would want you to.~"

"~Would you say the same thing to Arwen?~" my brother shot back fiercely.

Aragorn met his gaze evenly. "~Yes, I would and I already have. Arwen can make her own choices. The true proof of loving someone is knowing when to let them breathe on their own, Eldarion, not to hover and fix everything you can.~"

It was Eldarion's turn to sigh as he accepted Aragorn's logic. "~Very well. But it will not ease my mind during the fight.~"

I rolled my eyes as Legolas smiled. "~Well, why don't we have Estel fight next to us?~" the Elf suggested. "~The archers are going to fight on the walls, and we wouldn't be in as much danger as you will on the ground.~"

Eldarion's eyes brightened. "~That will work.~"

I groaned. "~Oh, you're just as bad, Legolas!~" I complained. "~You are treating me like I'm a piece of crystal or something!~"

All three of them laughed, the tension leaving us completely, as I sent each their own little quantity of glares. But in the end, I did accept Legolas's proposal.

I mean, what other choice did I have?


	31. Chapter 30

**_Chapter Thirty_**

~ _Aragorn_ ~  
I stormed away from Legolas, my mind boiling with both surprise and anger. Surprise because firstly I would have never expected Legolas to say such things, even in Elvish, and secondly – well, I would never have thought that I would actually snap at Legolas like I had either. And I was angry that Mithrandir was gone, leaving no wisdom behind to help; angry at Saruman for betraying us and possibly causing the deaths; angry at Legolas for bringing out my fears and shoving them in my face like that, right in front of everyone.

In short, I was a mass of confused, roiling feelings that made me feel like I was floating down that river again.

I came back to myself a short time later. I was sitting on the stairs, feeling tired and run-down and – the scariest of all – feeling actually my real age of eighty-seven human years. The reason I came back: someone called me, someone whose voice was familiar.

I turned vaguely in the direction of the voice to find Eldarion sitting there. He was already dressed in preparation for the battle tonight, with a sword buckled at his waist and a bow and fully stocked quiver on his back.

"Aragorn, is something wrong?" Eldarion asked worriedly.

I shook my head and forced a wan smile on my face. "No, everything's fine," I lied, striving to keep my voice normal. Eldarion already had enough burdens on his shoulders; there was no need to add mine to his.

"Really?" Eldarion's voice fairly dripped with sarcasm. "And I suppose that would be why you and Legolas just went storming down the hall in opposite directions?"

I blinked in surprise. I hadn't noticed Eldarion in the hallway. _Usually I'm better at this than that_, I thought ruefully. _I suppose I am a bit more rattled than usual._

As if he had heard my mental confession, Eldarion continued, "You have a really good mask, Aragorn, but . . . well, I think I can guess what you're thinking."

Now it was my turn to be sarcastic. "Oh, really, Scion of the Eldar?"

Eldarion ignored the nickname. "You're angry on the surface right now, but really, deep down inside you're confused. You've always known where to go before, which direction to take, which choice to select. But now things are complicated. Mithrandir's gone looking for the Rohirim; Saruman is sending an army of ten thousand bred especially to kill the lot of us; and know even Legolas seems to doubt you." He paused for a moment before asking, "Am I right?"

I stared at him. Eldarion was young, only about a third of my age and newly come to manhood, yet he seemed to completely understand and even empathize with what was going on.

"I'm guessing that I'm right," Eldarion decided when I gave him no answer.

His words finally wrangled a dry smile out of me. "You assume much, young one," I said, somewhat surprised that my voice was calm and steady; I'd expected it to be croaky from my lack of speech.

Eldarion rolled his eyes. "Well, when you _old ones_ don't say anything, we _young ones_ have to start somewhere, don't we?"

"So I'm old now?"

"Not for a Ranger. But to Men – yes, you are."

"Thank you for the compliment," I said dryly. "If I may ask, how did you guess?"

Eldarion understood my question at once. "You seem to continually forget, my lord, that Estel and I know what will happen, and we also know you. When we saw you and Legolas storming off like that . . . well, it wasn't that hard to guess that you two had argued about something."

I frowned. I was not disturbed by Eldarion's mentioning of his knowledge of our future, but rather I was actually concerned about the first part – Estel. "Where is Estel, then?"

"Trying to find Legolas," he answered with a sigh. "I had a hard time finding you, and you're no Elf – I'd hate to imagine what my sister is going through right now."

I smiled at Eldarion. He'd known exactly what to do and what to say to me without pushing me, and had ever so gently guided me back to what was at hand. _So young, yet already so wise_, I thought regretfully. _What I wouldn't give to have seen them just grow up as I did – with innocence and freedom. . ._

~ _Estel_ ~  
I jumped in the air, startled. My heart pounded like a thousand war drums, and my breathing speeded up to ten times its normal rate.

Then I relaxed, only to stiffen as a sharp _twack_ sounded once again.

Opening the door I had passed by just seconds ago, I was unsurprised to see Legolas there. His expression was fierce as he nocked his arrow and aimed at the target; so fierce, in fact, that I could almost believe that he was actually fighting right now, right here.

His aim was true, despite the unrest that played out so clearly on his face, and it pierced the target with enough strength to rip someone's limb off. He didn't hesitate and didn't even check to see if his arrow had hit the bull's eye; he just drew, aimed, and fired yet another arrow.

I waited patiently in the shadows. If Legolas knew I was here already, then he would speak to me when he was ready. If he didn't, then I would step in before he exhausted himself. _And the way it's going, I doubt he's realized I came in. . ._

After Legolas had fired six more rounds, I noticed that the pauses between his drawing the arrow and his firing were becoming bigger, so I decided to step in. With a few quick steps, I was by his side. "~Legolas, you need to rest,~" I said softly, restraining his arm gently. "~Don't exhaust yourself.~"

Legolas's blue eyes showed his surprise, but he quickly buried it. "~I can last much longer than humans,~" he said curtly, shaking away my hand.

I flinched at the implied meaning. I had never heard Legolas slight Men so cruelly before; in fact, I had never really even see Legolas truly _upset_ before either.

"~Lasting doesn't mean anything if you wear yourself out beforehand,~" I replied shortly, being just as curt as he had. I had wanted to try the gentle way of letting Legolas calm down, but it seemed I'd have to take the harder route. "~Killing yourself won't make the emotions go away, Your Highness.~"

My intentional use of his title caught his attention. He lowered his bow and stepped closer to me, suddenly broadcasting a dark, threatening aura that one of the Elder Race can display to one of the Secondborn. He was stronger, faster, wiser, older. I could not best him if this came to blows.

"~My father is immortal,~" he growled. "~He has no need of an heir.~"

"~Does immortality mean you do not need love?~" I shot back, surprised that Legolas had drawn his father in. Apparently, King Thranduil and Legolas did not have the best father-son relationship.

"~My father – I – That is completely unrelated, _Engwar_!~" he spat, using the highly disrespectful and very insulting term that the Elves sometimes called us humans – _Engwar_ meant "the sickly", referring to our mortality and our susceptibility to disease. The term was especially insulting when he applied it to me, for I was a daughter of the Houses of the Edain – the Elf-friends, we were called.

In short, by calling me that, he was saying that I was just like every other human – stupid, worthless, short-lived, and one who had fallen out of Valinor's graces during the Fall of Númenor.

I stiffened. "~Sickly I may be, Legolas Thranduilion, but a mere human I am not,~" I said icily. "~Do not insult my House by the use of that term, for we of the _Elendili_ have not earned it. We alone of Men stood by your father and the Elves 3,000 years ago at the foot of Mount Oroduin.~"

"~And you failed to cast the Ring away, which would have ended the conflict!~" he retorted.

"~Am I responsible for the choice of Isildur?~" My question challenged him, and his eyes flashed in response, darkening with anger. I could see that Legolas's usual control over his emotions was lessened, and that in turn he was not as careful with his tongue as usual. Every emotion he had buried away was coming out, and it seemed most of his negative emotions involved his – and his father's, no doubt – opinion of Men. "~For if I and my kin am responsible for the choice of Isildur, then you and your father are responsible for the choice of Oropher!~"

Legolas's eyes widened, and he took a step back, unprepared for my own words. Oh, I knew how to argue with him. As one of the Believers, I had been trained in my history. Oropher, Legolas's grandfather, had been the King of Mirkwood during the end of the Second Age, and he, along with Celeborn, had fought alongside the High King Gil-galad. But he had charged ahead during the last battle, either having been misinformed or just arrogant, and he and all of the Elves he had called to his side were slain, leaving Thranduil the new, bitter, and sad king.

I decided that I had gone on the offensive long enough. Softening my voice, I said, "~Legolas, I do not blame you – nor, I believe, does Aragorn – for your words. We all must learn to swallow our pride and apologize at least once in our lifetime.~"

All of his anger seemed to fade away, and Legolas's shoulders slumped. He gave a rather bitter smile. "~It seems that every day I learn a lesson in morality from you humans,~" he said, a trace of amusement in his voice.

I rolled my eyes. "~As I learned it from my own parents,~" I reminded him. "~I am no different from you in that regard. . . Legolas, I – ~"

"~Do not apologize to me,~" he interrupted. "~I know that your words were not spoken with the intent of harm. But I cannot say the same for my own.~"

I waved it aside. "~Words spoken in anger are never from the heart.~" It was an old lesson, one that all of the Believers had learned from childhood. We had to, for often had our parents spoken ill of King Elessar in order to remain alive when questioned.

He smiled, and his eyes cleared for the first time since I'd found him. "~Where is Aragorn?~" he asked lightly, the musical accent back in his voice.

"Um . . .wherever my brother is."

One of his eyebrows rose. "~Your brother? What does your brother have to do with this?~"

"~I tracked you down – and let me tell you, you are really hard to find when you're upset – and my brother went chasing after Aragorn.~"

"~Estel . . .~"

"~Yes?~" I turned to him.

"~Thank you.~"


	32. Chapter 31

**_Chapter Thirty-One_**

~ _Legolas_ ~  
Estel led me through the crowds of people running around. As I turned over the conversation in my mind, I felt my admiration for Estel growing.

She had actually taken the time to track me down instead of waiting for me to return or going off to help with some more useful tasks, like helping the distribution of weapons or ushering the women and children into the caves. She had faced my anger and held her own, using verbal trickery and what she knew about the past. And then she had even forgiven me after the outburst, despite all the rather . . . distasteful things I'd said to her that did not at all become an Elven Prince.

I remembered my first thoughts about her when I had seen her at the Council. I had dismissed her as merely a mortal who had captured Elrond's interest. Oh, she could hold her own against us, yes, but only on matters of worth.

I had never seen Aragorn that way. As one of the Rangers, I had been careful to reserve my judgment and wait until he was older. He had proven himself as time had gone by, and now we were best friends.

I was only just realizing how wrong I was. I should have judged Estel just like Aragorn – I should have waited until I saw her in action to judge her worth instead of dismissing her so quickly. _Estel is so, so much more than that. Why was I so blind?_

And Estel was coming to mean even more than that to me. . .

Then I saw her suddenly break free of the crowd and run forward. She dashed across the wall in the direction of a cloaked figure, who turned towards her. He embraced her tightly and briefly before turning to me. I tensed slightly, but then the figure spoke, and I recognized him.

"Legolas. So, Estel managed to find you," he said.

He was already dressed for the upcoming battle, I saw. All of his weapons were with him, and he even wore some light armor.

I nodded shortly; there was no need to go into my whole conversation with Estel. "And Aragorn?"

Eldarion nodded over his shoulder down a stairwell. "He's getting ready."

I nodded again and went down the stairs. Aragorn was just sliding his chain mail over his head. I swallowed, trying to gather up my nerve. When Aragorn seemed about ready to turn around, I stepped forward and offered him his sword. He took it with a nod.

"Estel says that Eldarion spoke to you," I began neutrally.

Aragorn nodded slowly. "And Estel spoke to you, didn't she?"

"She made me understand. . . We have trusted you this far, and you have not lead us astray." I paused for a moment before continuing. "Forgive me. I was wrong to despair."

Aragorn took my shoulder. "~There is nothing to forgive, Legolas,~" he said firmly. I clasped his shoulder in return, relieved. I could just feel the tension leaving us, and I offered a silent thanks to Estel and Eldarion for what they had done.

Aragorn seemed to share my opinion. "~In the beginning, I thought they were going to be an obstacle, something that would only them back,~" he said, continuing to put armor on. He shook his head with a laugh. "~Oh, how wrong I was!~"

"~How wrong _we_ were,~" I corrected.

He grinned. But before we could continue the conversation, a sound made me turn. Gimli moved into sight, struggling to get the chain mail down. "If we had time, I'd get this adjusted," he was muttering. Moments later it fell down, leaving a wide berth of chain mail lying on the floor.

I raised an eyebrow and exchanged a glance with Aragorn.

"It's a little tight across the chest," Gimli grumbled, catching the looks we exchanged.

Then a horn sounded suddenly, startling me.

I turned. "That is no orc horn," I realized quite suddenly.

~ _Estel_ ~  
As soon as we heard the horn, Eldarion and I had exchanged knowing glances before running down to meet the brigade of marching Elves. Both of us remembered this particular chapter in the history books, and sure enough, it had happened.

Legolas and Aragorn joined us shortly afterward. I felt their shock as they saw all of the Elves marching in, each armored and armed. Some carried the banner of Lothlórien, but most merely carried long bows and full stocked quivers. Haldir was at the forefront, clad in a red cloak and carrying the clasp of a warden.

Théoden was currently stammering out his own surprise. Haldir dealt with it calmly, with carefully chosen words and a warm smile that only grew when Aragorn, Legolas, and Eldarion all eagerly rushed down to exchange smiles and the clasping of shoulders.

I followed at a statelier pace, choosing to give Haldir a hug rather than exchange the warriors' greeting. "~It's great to see you, Haldir,~" I told him softly as he hugged me gently in return before letting go.

He gave me a warm smile. "~You too, little one,~" he replied teasingly, his blue eyes gleaming with amusement that seemed a bit too mischievous for an Elf his age. "~And you've grown . . . a little.~"

I glared at him as Legolas started laughing. I had forgotten about Legolas's keen hearing . . . again. I felt Legolas come over and rest a hand on my shoulder. "~Ah, but she's gotten better with her bow, I must admit,~" he said in my defense.

Haldir raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "~Indeed? Who's been teaching her?~"

"~Who else?~" Aragorn asked, joining the conversation. "~Legolas.~"

Haldir sighed dramatically. "~Oh, dear. Now I've got to go fix all the mistakes you've taught her in your technique, Legolas!~"

"~I'm not _that_ bad!~" Legolas protested.

Now it my turn to laugh at him. I grinned at his petulant expression, which only soured further when Aragorn and Eldarion joined in the laughter.

~ _Eldarion_ ~  
After the laughter had died down, I turned back to my sister. "~Estel, shouldn't you be getting ready for the fight?~" I asked, frowning at her. She still was wearing everyday clothes, and I doubted she had eaten yet.

Estel rolled her eyes at me. "~Overprotective brother,~" she complained, turning around. I saw Aragorn and Legolas grin at me.

Estel must have seen it the glances too, because a minute later her voice drifted down to us: "~_All_ of you!~"

I laughed. It _was_ nice to see Estel relaxing and actually acting like a normal girl for once. Out of everyone in our family, she had lived and suffered the longest under the stewards' rule. Now, at last, she was getting a chance to act her age – and be, in her words, "hovered over" by three older brothers. Aragorn turned to Théoden and immediately began discussing proceedings and plans. I turned away to Haldir. "~How are your brothers?~" I asked.

Haldir didn't answer for a moment. His eyes weren't unfocused, so he wasn't having a premonition or something; on the contrary, his eyes were narrowed. But I couldn't tell what he was looking at.

A bit of unease filtered through me. _It must be something major for Haldir to just not notice me talking to him_, a part of me thought.

I tapped him on the shoulder. He started, and I rolled my eyes. "~And you've always been yelling at me for not paying attention?~"

Haldir smiled shortly but reluctantly, as if the smile was forced to ease the weight of whatever he was about to say. "~My apologies, Eldarion.~"

"~Sure. What's your excuse now?~" That was the same question Haldir had always asked me whenever he or someone else had snuck up on me. Granted, their being Elves didn't help matters, so I was asked this question a lot.

Now Haldir's smile faded. "~I probably have the same excuse as most of my comrades right now, as well as the Men I was observing.~"

"~And it is?~"

"~What else? Your sister, Estel.~"

I blinked. _Estel?_ "What?" I spluttered, reverting to the common speech in astonishment. "What does my sister have to do with anything?"

Haldir raised an eyebrow. "~You don't understand? Eldarion, you were separated from your sister for eighteen years, and she enchanted you within a mere half a day. You yourself said that Estel makes you very proud to be her brother. Now imagine the image she presents to those of us who do not have such a relationship to claim with her.~"

I stared, and I swore that for a few minutes my mouth gaped open. "~Please tell me that you are joking,~" I said finally.

Haldir's eyes were unfathomable, but the message was clear: he was serious in this regard. "~I can assure that am not joking, and nor am I interested in your sister.~" Then he smiled slightly. "~And do you really think any of us would dare to court your sister without her acceptance and your permission? We are not barbarians.~"

I nodded slowly. Haldir was right there too; no Elf, whether from Mirkwood or Imladris or the Havens or anywhere else, would dare force their will on Estel. And if Estel was willing to bind herself to one of them, then I would not separate them.

But it was still odd to think of my little sister falling for one of the immortals . . . and some of whom had been my comrades for the last decade or so too. . .

"~But Men are not so inclined,~" Haldir continued. "~You had better watch over Estel carefully. There is no possible way to hide her shine, and they will notice.~"

I clasped his shoulder. "~Understood. I thank you.~"

Then I turned away, my mind buzzing with the implications. _Thank goodness that she is always within the eyesight of one of us_, I thought feverishly. Estel had never yet strayed from the side of Aragorn, Legolas, or me, and if she had, then she was with Éowyn or Théoden.

"~What troubles you, Eldarion?~" came the soft voice of Legolas.

I started. "~Nothing,~" I lied hastily.

Legolas raised an eyebrow at my words. "~I can see that,~" he said, his musical voice laced with a sarcasm that made his voice seem at once out of this world and normal.

I sighed and turned around to follow my sister up the stairs. Legolas matched my movement perfectly, his face impassive. "~Look,~" I told him, "~ask me later, all right? I've got a lot on my plate right now.~"

He flashed me a questioning look, but to my relief didn't ask any more questions.

"~Legolas, Eldarion, Elessar!~" Haldir said suddenly. "~One moment. I almost forgot something.~"

Legolas and I both turned as Aragorn looked up from his intense conversation with Théoden that was quickly deteriorating into an argument.

"~What is it?~" Legolas asked curiously, speaking for all of us.

He gestured shortly, and one of the Elves detached themselves from the ranks. Only . . . Only he wasn't as slender or strong or graceful as the others, and he was shorter, and he didn't have a bow. Then he threw back his hood.

I gasped.

Aragorn started.

Legolas's eyes went wide, and he muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse in Elvish.

Because the person standing in front of us was Boromir Denethorion.


	33. Chapter 32

Okay, now that finals have begun (at least at my school), I'm going to copy the same thing I did for my midterm marathon. Except this will be the finals finale. (Yes, I do know that I'm not in the "finale" of My Fairytale but I needed a name.) So, same deal as before – for each of the next 4-5 days of finals, I'm going to post a new chapter. Again, thanks to all of my readers/reviewers for sticking with me this far!

* * *

**_Chapter Thirty-Two_**

~ _Estel_ ~  
I fastened the cloak I had received from Lothlórien around my neck and sighed. _Well, this is it._ My preparation for battle was short and rather small. Eating, getting into some chain mail, strapping on my bow and quiver more securely – and that was pretty much it.

I closed my eyes. _Ten thousand strong. The legends say that the armies marching against us are _ten thousand strong_ at least._

I knew that, according to legend, Rohan _did_ hold off the Uruk-hai from Isenguard. The wall collapsed when the sewer – the only weak point – got blown up, and Rohan had been forced to move into the keep, but in the end, when the sun had risen, at last hope had come back. Théoden and Aragorn had led charge out of the keep just as Mithrandir had ridden in with the reinforcements – namely, the Rohirrim under Èomer.

I sighed and opened my eyes. This time, we were forewarned and we were ready. _But are we really ready? Can we pull off this miracle once again?_ I mean, the arrival of Eldarion and me had nearly killed Aragorn on the way to Helm's Deep – what was to say something like that wouldn't happen again?

_And who will it be next time? Not Aragorn again; the Valar need him, otherwise Eldarion and I wouldn't exist and Middle-earth would fall into chaos without a leader who could unite Men._

_Gimli?_ My hands clenched into fists at the thought of Gimli leaving. He too had more roles to play in the future.

_Eldarion?_ But no. The Valar had sent my brother here for a purpose; surely – hopefully – they didn't mean for him to go out with the same kind of bang he had come in with, if his telling of his arrival in Lothlórien was true.

_That leaves . . . me._

I took a deep breath to think it over logically. I had escaped death many times, so in Mandos came calling this time . . . well, surely it wouldn't be that hard to accept it? Eldarion knew what would happen as well as I did, so he could guide the others as well as I had.

_No, wait. There is one more. Legolas?_ My heart clenched suddenly at the thought of the golden-haired Elf dying in this battle. History had never told what had happened to Mirkwood's prince; he had sort of . . . faded out of the picture, although rumor had it that he had taken Gimli and sailed to the Undying Lands . . . eventually.

I prayed that that legend would ring true here as well.

"~Am I interrupting something here?~"

I started, whirling around. Legolas himself stood in the doorway. "Valar, Legolas, what is it with your fascination with scaring me by appearing silently and asking a question?" I demanded when I'd finally gotten my breath back.

He gave me a brief smile. It was then that I noticed he was holding something in one of his hands. As I squinted at it, I realized he gripped a sword and sheath.

I glanced from it to him and frowned. _What's going on?_ As far as I knew, Legolas used his bow in most cases. And if he didn't, he was using his twin blades, which were just as deadly. "~What's with the sword?~"

Legolas straightened from where he'd been leaning on the door and offered the sword to me. "~It's for you,~" he explained. At my confused glance, he continued, "~I know that the Lady gave you a bow, and you have plenty of arrows. But if and when the fighting comes to close quarters, they will not do you any good. You'll need a sword.~"

I took it and drew the blade out. To my surprise, the sword fit pretty well in my hand, and it was more or less balanced. I swung it experimentally before sheathing it again. I had was better with my bow then with a sword, but I knew the elementary basics of wielding one, and if the fighting got into close quarters, I knew that even if I panicked, there would only be two people I would hurt – the Uruk-hai who would be crowded around me . . . or myself.

"~Thank you,~" I told him, starting to buckle the whole thing at my waist. "~But how did you manage to scrounge up a spare sword – and one that was light enough and of the right proportions for me – so quickly?~"

He smirked, crossing his arms. "~I have my ways,~" he said mysteriously. "~I _am_ an Elven Prince.~"

"~Yeah, well, as long as you don't go telling me that you were flirting with some of kitchen maids to get the sword, that's fine,~" I mumbled, fumbling with the clasp for the sheath and holding back a curse. I hadn't fastened on a sword for years, and this one was being particularly stubborn . . . or maybe it was just old. Either way, it was being difficult and I did not appreciate that.

I jumped when cool fingers suddenly brushed mine out of the way and nimbly fastened the sword so easily that it seemed as natural as breathing. Instinctively I made to push the hand that the fingers belonged to away, but only succeeded in grabbing it. Legolas started in surprise, stumbling against me.

"Uh . . . Is this a bad time to interrupt?"

Legolas whirled around, and I saw him stiffen immediately. His blue eyes went from mischievous and teasing and relaxed to suddenly tense and wary and full of fire. His hand tightened on his bow, as if he was in the middle of battle – not the in middle of preparation for battle.

I leaned around the Elven Prince, slightly confused – what could make Legolas out of all people nervous and tense? – and then I too froze.

I understood exactly why he had reacted so strangely.

For the person who had spoken was Boromir Denethorion.

~ _Boromir Denethorion_ ~  
The Elf stiffened at once when he saw me, and his blue eyes erupted into wariness and threatening fires. His jaw tightened, as did his hand upon his bow.

Lady Estel leaned around the Elf and started in surprise, her eyes going wide. She was dressed for battle, I saw, but not completely – most likely the Elf had interrupted her and they had spoken and now I had further interrupted her.

"Boromir." The Elf's voice was flat and cold, even colder than the ice blue orbs his eyes had become.

Lady Estel put her hand on the Elf's arm, gently, as if telling him to relax. Then she stepped around him to face me. "So, you have returned," she said softly. Her voice was gentle, but with hints of wariness, for which I did not blame her in the slightest. But her expression was neutral, impartial, as if we were merely acquainted who had just met.

"Yes. I would . . . speak to you . . . alone, my lady. If I may be so bold," I added hastily.

The Elf's eyes narrowed even further. "Why?" he demanded flatly. "What have you to say that cannot be said in front of me?"

Lady Estel murmured something under her breath.

The Elf responded sharply, the tone sounding too harsh for the musical voices of Elves. But he did not take his eyes off of me, watching me as though he was a hawk and Estel his chick and I a deadly snake.

I didn't really blame him either.

Then Lady Estel pushed the Elf lightly, almost teasingly. She said something, her eyes flickering to him, but I couldn't understand; most likely she spoke now in the Elvish tongue.

The Elf wasn't happy with it; that much I could tell, even without understanding his language. But then his jaw unclenched somewhat, and he murmured, "As you wish." He squeezed her hand gently before turning and leaving, his stride graceful and even.

Lady Estel turned to me, then, and crossed her arms. "Against my better judgment," she said slowly, "I fear I must repeat Legolas's words – why _do_ you wish to speak with me?"

For a long moment, I couldn't say anything. I could barely believe she had consented to be _alone_ with me after what I had done to her.

Finally, I sank to one knee and bowed my head. "Only to come and apologize and to beg your forgiveness, my lady, even though I realize that what I have done is beyond mitigation or repair or forgiveness. In my defense, all I can say is that I was not in my right mind. But that is all I can say."

"Do you realize why you were not in your right mind?"

I swallowed. "Yes," I said reluctantly.

"And yet you strove for the Ring all the same?"

"Yes, my lady."

I heard a soft sigh, and then her hands were pulling me up so that our eyes could meet. "Boromir," she said quietly, "you need not ask my forgiveness. I forgave you a long time ago. As long as you understand why things happened and have learned your lesson – then, I am content."

"I did you irreparable harm, my lady," I argued.

She raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps. Or perhaps you simply learned a lesson about humility."

I bowed my head again, ashamed at her simple words.

"But I am glad you are here; there is a battle coming, and we will need all the warriors we can get. . ." Her voice trailed off, and I looked up to see a troubled expression on her face – but, thankfully, her worry was not because of me.

"I will fight."

"I know," she replied. Then she looked at me again. "And do try not to get yourself banged on the head or killed, will you? I don't have enough time to go and seek revenge on your behalf."

Despite everything, I managed to crack a small smile as I mock-bowed. "My lady's wish is my command," I murmured.

"I mean it."

"As do I."

"Then cut it out. I'm no lady to be addressed as such."

"You are now," I said quietly.

She rolled her eyes.

There was a soft sound at the doorway, and I turned to see the Elf standing there again. His eyes flickered over us briefly, from the small amount of space between us to my expression to Lady Estel.

He said something, quietly, in the musical language that I did not understand.

"Ah. Coming." She paused, then. "You'd best prepare yourself for battle, Boromir. It's going to be a long night."

But before I could further ponder her words, she left. I inclined my head to her retreating back.

"Be careful, mortal," the Elf said suddenly.

It was the first time he had spoken to me, and I was startled by the harshness with which he spoke, as if he barely could restrain from yelling at me.

"What?"

His eyes narrowed. "Be careful. Lady Estel is too high a treasure for one like you to set your sights upon. And know that her brother and Lord Aragorn and I will all be watching you for what you do next. If you slip back into your old ways, make one mistake, or give me one hint that you might hurt her . . ." His hand twitched to the twin blades fastened on his back. " . . . you will find I am not forgiving at all. It is only for her sake now that you do not suffer for what you did."

Then he whirled around and stalked off, melting into the shadows.

~ _Legolas_ ~  
Estel glared at me.

I slowed to a stop and raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

"You were listening to us, weren't you?" she demanded. "_Weren't you?_"

"Ah. . . Um . . ."

She snorted and whirled around, stalking angrily away. "I can't believe it," she muttered furiously. "I sent you away from a _reason_, Legolas!"

I stepped forward, easily keeping pace with her. "Yes. And?"

"You're unbelievable."

I let her rant for a few minutes more, letting her get the steam out and begin to calm down. She was right to be angry, and I did not wish to provoke her any more than I already had. Besides, this wasn't just her being angry – it was her frustration and her worry and everything else that had built up within her coming out, and I had to give her some time to be . . . well, be human for once.

Finally, after a few minutes – and when we were away from any potential eavesdroppers – I grabbed her arm and wrenched her arm to face me.

She spun with a gasp, not expecting my movement and trying to fight it, but with little success.

"Estel," I murmured. "~You know I would not have left you alone to face Boromir.~"

She sighed, her shoulders slumping. "~I know. But I had hopes. . .~"

I snorted. "~After what he did, you're lucky I even let you be the same room as him alone,~" I reminded her.

She pulled away. "~He can change.~"

"~So you think.~"

"~You don't trust my judgment?~"

"~Not where he is concerned.~" I touched her shoulder, letting my voice soften. "~You are much too compassionate for your own good, Estel.~"

She smiled slightly. "~If I lacked compassion entirely, would I be your friend?~"

I sighed and shook my head silently with an amused smile. _So young and yet so compassionate, even for those who do her harm._ But such a trait only made me want to admire and protect her all the more, not scorn her.

"~Estel. Be careful. Please.~"

She paused, caught by the seriousness of my tone. "~I know.~" Then she sighed, her shoulders slumping as she turned away. "~But you're right. . . It was so hard for me to stand there and look him in the eye and remember what he had done. . ."

I placed my hand on her shoulder. "~It's not your fault. . . You have every right to be nervous,~" I said softly.

She sighed again. "~Sometimes I think I'm too late to forgive, though. I should be able to look him in the eye and forgive him completely, and yet I can't.~"

I turned her around, gently, and raised her chin with gentle fingers. "~You expect too much of yourself, Estel,~" I chided lightly. "~You cannot be perfect. And knowing your flaws is good; you can work on them, which is more than most Men can say. . .~"

Estel merely looked down, a troubled look spreading across her face.

I cursed Boromir again for doing this to her – for tainting a young, innocent, beautiful girl and making her doubt herself.

Wait – _beautiful_? Where did that come from?

Just then I realized the rather compromising situation we were in. Sometime during our conversation, we had subconsciously stepped ever closer and our voices had become ever softer. And sometime during that, my arms had slid from her shoulders to her waist and her hands had appeared on my chest, gently keeping the distance between us. And sometime in between _that_, our faces had become even closer.

So close, actually, that all I had to do would be to lower my lips, and I would be able to kiss her.

Estel seemed to realize this at the same time that I did. Immediately, she flushed and we parted, putting distance between us yet again.

"I'd better find my brother," she murmured, still not looking at me.

As she walked off, I felt a strange sense of . . . of . . . of regret, for some reason I couldn't quite pin down. . .


	34. Chapter 33

Day 2 of my final finale! This chapter entails the beginning of the Battle of Helms Deep, and here for the first time Estel and Eldarion will begin to work bigger differences in this battle.

* * *

**_Chapter Thirty-Three_**

~ _Eldarion_ ~  
My sister was already waiting on the battlements when I arrived. She was speaking in a low voice to Legolas, and both of their faces were grim. Aragorn was pacing behind the Elvish troops, obviously deciding on what to say. Haldir had positioned himself in the front as well, but he would be fighting among the Elves despite his higher rank. The Elves were silent and steady compared to the jittery and nervous men.

"How are you?" I asked my sister.

She glanced briefly at me before replying carefully in a low voice. "~The Men are nervous. They don't know the true amount of the numbers arrayed against them. And I think it unwise to tell them.~"

"~Ah. . . And this is why we speak thusly?~" I asked, making the switch to Elvish.

Legolas nodded. "~I do not wish to deceive them, but we do not need anyone deserting at this time. . . We need all the men we can get.~"

"What is with you all talking in Elvish all the time?" Gimli complained, tramping over. Then he glared at the wall that was in front of us. "Argh. You could have picked a better spot."

I managed a faint smile, and Estel laughed lightly. Legolas merely raised an eyebrow.

Aragorn came over then, and he seemed nervous and jumpy and agitated. I really couldn't blame him, though. We were about to enter into one of the biggest battles yet that Aragorn had fought in, and our survival rode on the slim hope that Mithrandir would find the others and bring reinforcements.

"Well, lad, the luck you live by – let's hope it lasts the night," Gimli said immediately.

I could see it didn't help; Aragorn only got even tenser.

Estel took one look and placed her hand on his, where it rested on the wall. "~You'll be fine, Elessar,~" she murmured, using his official title. "~And you will lead us to victory.~"

"Your friends are with you, Aragorn," Legolas added quietly.

Gimli only retorted somberly, "Let's hope they last the night."

Aragorn moved away, his face white and determined. He seemed a bit more resigned as well, as though fearing the worst. But at least as he was leaving he clasped Estel's shoulder briefly and gently as he passed her.

Estel sighed and whirled to face Gimli. "You're _not_ being helpful, you know," she said seriously.

Legolas put his hand on her shoulder. "~Calm yourself, little one,~" he chided gently. "~It ill becomes you to be so uptight in the face of trouble.~"

She sighed. "~War brings out the worst in all of us,~" was all she said grimly.

Just then, a crack of thunder split the tension of the night, slicing through the silence as an arrow slices through the air. Thankfully, lightning did not yet follow, but rain did. Buckets and buckets of it, falling upon our heads as though this was the last time the clouds would yield their burden upon the earth.

Behind us came Aragorn's raised voice.

"~Show them no mercy! For you shall receive none!~" he shouted, letting his voice carry over the regiments of Elves.

Similar shouts echoed over different regiments as other captains bellowed out orders to their own troops, although in actual common language instead of Elvish, for none of the Men but Estel and I understood Elvish here.

Gimli grunted as I came to stand beside Estel. "What's happening out there?"

Legolas turned his head to face the Dwarf." Shall I describe it to you?" he asked calmly. "Or would you like me to find you a box?"

Estel sighed, and I hid a smile behind my hand.

Gimli merely laughed.

And then Legolas suddenly started, a frown erasing his smile as he looked up sharply. At the same time, the constant banging of the Uruk-hai suddenly ceased.

"What happened?" Estel asked anxiously, leaning forward.

Legolas pulled her back. "Don't look," he warned.

But of course she did. Then she pulled back, a disgusted expression on her face. "~One of the Uruk-hai have been shot,~" she said softly.

"~Hold!~" came the shout from Aragorn.

Unfortunately, the Uruk-hai did not follow that same order even if we did. A thunderous roar sounded from the leader, who was perched on a rock or something in the middle. The angry roar was echoed by the downed Uruk-hai's companions as they let loose their anger and bloodlust. Moments later, they charged, and the Battle of Helm's Deep . . . began.

~ _Legolas_ ~  
"I don't understand – how you – can think this – a game!" Estel shouted as she slammed her bow into an Uruk-hai before kicking the creature over the wall.

"Quite easily, I assure you!" I replied, sending an arrow into the next.

"Men!"

"Males," I corrected, surprised that she of all people had forgotten the difference between Men and Elves. But then again, this _was_ the middle of a heated battle, so I supposed I could forgive her momentary lapse. After all, Estel had never fought in a full-fledged battle like this.

"Oh, stow – "

A scream interrupted her sentence, and I whirled just in time to see her slam into a wall and slump to the floor. As she scrambled to recover, an Uruk-hai blocked her way, leering and raising a huge ax above her.

Without thinking, I unsheathed my knives and plunged them into the beast. It howled, and I silenced it . . . permanently.

"Are you okay?" I asked, pulling Estel up.

"I'm fine," she said breathlessly. "Just . . . He caught me off guard."

I glanced behind me. I was pretty much out of arrows, and she wasn't in a much better condition. And she was exhausted from the constant fighting, which dulled her reflexes and lessened her strength.

I was about to order her to leave when I noticed a bright light moving through the crowd of Uruk-hai.

_That can't be good_, I thought, hurrying to the wall. A torch-bearer was running through a gauntlet – well, actually, through a crowd of other Uruk-hai – with a large torch burning with flickering fire that looked almost silver in the rain.

"They must have a bomb somewhere!" Estel shouted, looking around frantically.

Aragorn noticed it too, and then he added his voice to the shouts of fear and surprise. "~Legolas, stop him!~"

I strung my bow with an arrow and let it fly. It buried into the torch-bearer's shoulder, but the Uruk-hai only winced momentarily before continuing to run. It was going to take more than a few arrows, then. . .

"~Kill him!~" Aragon shouted, racing over with his sword in hand. "~Legolas, kill him!~"

I let another arrow fly at the same time that Estel did, and this time the torch-bearer stumbled. Estel's arrow had sliced through the muscle of its arm, and it was losing its grip on the torch; and my arrow was now causing its glorifying run to turn into a pitifully slowing trot with a limp. But then the creature rallied – and threw itself forward on to the bombs.

The castle wall exploded, and we were all thrown off of our feet.

~ _Estel_ ~  
I, unfortunately, was standing on the part of the wall that blew up. When the bomb went off, I went flying into the air like a messenger dove thrown into the air with a note bound to her leg – and then slammed into the ground, so stunned that for the longest time I couldn't move or blink or even breathe.

Then rough yet gentle hands hastily helped me up, and I found myself face-to-face with Aragorn. His face was streaked with dirt and sweat, and I knew that he had been thrown off the wall with me.

"Are you okay?" he asked anxiously.

I nodded, slowly at first and then with more confidence as senses started returning to me.

Aragorn breathed a short sigh of relief. Then he drew his sword while I leaned down and snatched up my bow again.

"The wall is breached; this won't go well for us now," I said, standing next to him.

"We'll find a way."

"Hopefully."

He cast me a gentle smile. "Weren't you the one who told me never to give up hope, Estel?" he asked, emphasizing my name – and through that, its Elvish meaning.

"You were Estel first."

Then there was a wild shout, and Gimli landed in the huge pool of water where the wall had been.

"Gimli!" Aragorn shouted, starting forward helplessly.

I seized his arm. "Aragorn, don't! If you go to help him, you'll be overwhelmed!" He pulled against my grip, so I yanked him around and grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to look at me. "~Elessar, think!" I hissed. "~You have a whole army down at your command – use it! Don't charge blindly in!~"

His shoulders slumped as the logic of my words sunk in. Then he pulled away and raised his sword.

"~Fire the arrows!~" he commanded.

Arrows whistled by us as the regiment of Elves responded in perfect union, felling the majority of the first wave of Uruk-hai to come through. Gimli fought as well, but then I saw him get knocked down, outmatched by the greater height of his foes.

I could see that that was the last straw for Aragorn.

"~Charge!~" he shouted.

This time, I didn't bother trying to stop him. Instead, I used my bow along with the other Elves. Some ran forward with Aragorn, though, brandishing their own swords. But I stayed back; I knew it was Aragorn's command that I stay out of the way. And besides – I wasn't that handy with a sword. I could do much more good back here, guarding Aragorn with another set of eyes.

But there were just too many Uruk-hai for us to fight. We couldn't hold them off.

And then – "Aragorn, fall back to the Keep! Get your men out of there!"

Théoden's voice lingered in the air, but I could already see our fighters on the wall backing off. We would have to retreat; there was nothing else we could do right now. We just didn't have the resources to hold the Uruk-hai off now that the wall – our weak spot – was breached.

I looked at Aragorn, and he nodded.

"~Fall back!~" he shouted, repeated Théoden's order. "~Fall back to the Keep!~"

The Elves listened too, but the archers like me stayed behind for a few seconds more, giving as much cover as we could for the retreating fighters in the front.

When Aragorn ran up to me, I knew it was time to leave. Together we began to run back, until he suddenly stopped. I skidded to a stop as well, wondering what was wrong with him.

Then he raised his sword and shouted, "~Haldir!~"

It took a moment, but then I saw the Marchwarden; he was in the middle of a battle, but he somehow found the time to look at us.

Aragorn gestured with his sword. "~Fall back to the Keep!~"

Haldir nodded briefly before beginning to repeat the message to his own troops.

Aragorn turned to me. "~Keep going, Estel! I'll catch up later.~"

"But – "

"~_Go_, Estel!~"

I didn't want to leave him alone, but I could see the look in his eyes warning me not to disobey him. So I ran, meeting up with Gimli and some other Elves along the way as we retreated. But it was only when I was already halfway to the Keep before I remembered that I had forgotten to warn Haldir, as I'd sworn to do.

I closed my eyes and bit my lip.

That would be the last time I – or anyone, for that matter – would see or speak or Haldir, the last Marchwarden of Lothlórien.


	35. Chapter 34

Day 3 of my final finale! During this chapter, Estel and Eldarion will see the end of the Battle of Helms Deep – and bring about some more changes that, in turn, will lead to an even bigger surprise a few chapters down the road. . .

* * *

**_Chapter Thirty-Four_**

~ _Aragorn_ ~  
As Estel ran off, I continued relaying the message to fall back. There were still more troops, and not nearly enough commanders to relay commands. There was Théoden, there was Haldir, and there was me. And that was about it.

And that was nowhere near enough.

But at least the word was spreading, and more and more troops were falling back, archers feathering the advancing Uruk-hai with enough arrows to allow for the troops in the front to find their balance and scramble to safety before they fled as well. By now, almost all of the troops on the ground were evacuated; it was only the troops on the formerly safe battlement walls that were now in danger from the Uruk-hai pouring in from all sides.

At that thought, I looked up to find Haldir. Théoden had already retreated to the gate, attempting to hold it, so he should be safe.

As I watched Haldir continued to shout orders to the Elves. He was also doing what I had; trying to ensure that I was the last to retreat in order to help someone else escape the devastating slaughter.

But unlike me, he had more fronts to fight on – and no one guarding his blind side as Estel had protected mine.

So when the Uruk-hai came up from behind and raised his sword for a blow, Haldir didn't see.

I screamed his name and began running, but a little voice inside me whispered that it was too late; that I could not save him; that Haldir would fall, as so many others had, to this fight, to this battle, to this war.

And then, out of the blue, just as the top of the sword slammed into Haldir's neck, just as it was about to slice his entire back open, just as it was about to deliver the killing blow –

A sword went flying past me, spinning in a circle.

The Uruk-hai grunted in surprise as the sword buried itself in its side and paused.

I leaped up to the level then and lashed out, pushing the monster backwards and away from Haldir, who had collapsed just after the sword landed in his neck. Then I slew the creature with a few quick stabs – a merciful death it didn't deserve. Not after what it had done to Haldir.

When I turned around, Eldarion was kneeling by Haldir.

"~Come on, stay focused!~" he was pleading. "~Haldir, come on, you can live, just live, please don't die, stay here, don't die!~"

Haldir's eyes were flickering in and out of focus as I reached their side. It was only then that I noticed that Eldarion no longer had his sword.

So. He had thrown it. He was more reckless than I had thought.

But if his reckless move saved Haldir's life . . . I couldn't condemn it. Definitely not now. Not, perhaps, ever. A life saved was overshadowed a thousand complaints of recklessness.

I put my hand on his shoulder. "~Eldarion. Get him out of here.~" Eldarion spared me a quick glance, and I squeezed his shoulder once, gently, reassuring as I could within the span of two seconds. "~Go! I'll cover you.~"

Eldarion nodded, and with another two Elves that had run over, they carried Haldir off.

I closed my eyes briefly before making my way down to gate, where I suspected they might need help.

_Haldir was the first to come to our aid. Please let him live. If it's in your power, __Manwë, please let him live to see another day. Let him live to sail to Valinor rather than fade to Mandos. Please._

~ _Estel_ ~  
There were than a few wounded pouring in. I tried to devote some attention to the ones closest to death, but most of the time I simply had no choice but to send them to be laid in the healer's halls. When – or if – I was still standing at the end of this battle, I would tend to them then. But that was making a grave assumption as to how this battle might turn out.

I kept glancing to the window, hoping for the sun to rise. But it hadn't yet, and wouldn't for a while.

So I kept going, keep working, kept healing.

But I couldn't help feeling some hope when Eldarion appeared, soaked and dirtied and bloodied, in the entrance.

I ran to him, embracing him and not caring how soiled he was. Valar knew I wasn't in any better position than him at the moment. Except maybe a tad less soaked because I'd been out of the rain longer than him.

"Sister," he murmured, hugging me briefly.

I drew back. "What's wrong?" I asked. There was something off in his tone, and right now I could only fear the worst. "Are you injured?"

He shook his head, but anguish was clear in his pale blue eyes. "No, not me. . . Haldir."

I gasped and looked around him. Sure enough, two Elves were solemnly carrying their Marchwarden. Solemnly, but I could see the anguish and pain in their eyes. I knew that if they could have traded their bodies with his, could have saved him, could have taken the blow upon themselves, they would have. Even Eldarion would have done the same for him.

I directed them to a spare bed – well, it wasn't really a bed, but it was the best we could do – and knelt beside Haldir.

"Where was he wounded?" I asked.

Eldarion put his hand on my shoulder. "~The same place as was foretold,~" he replied.

I paused and felt my fingers curl into fists. "~I don't have the abilities to heal that kind of wound,~" I whispered, my voice breaking.

"~No. But you can slow it, until Aragorn can stop it.~"

"~How? I don't know anything! Only the King can use _athelas_ to heal.~"

Eldarion sighed. "~_Athelas_ is not enough at this point, and Elessar is busy.~" He met my eyes squarely as he lowered his voice. "~Estel. You have the Elessar. Use it.~"

The Elessar. I'd almost forgotten I possessed it. But now I found my fingers reaching up to touch the brilliant green gem set in the silver eagle's clasp that hung around my neck. The last and greatest of our line's treasures. The gem that healed Lothlórien before Lady Galadriel came to possess Nenya, the Ring of Water. The gem passed down from Lady Galadriel to Lady Celebrían and then to Lady Arwen before finally coming into the possession of King Elessar.

"~I . . . don't know . . . how,~" I whispered.

Eldarion stood. "~Try. For me. For Haldir.~" His voice dropped even more. "~For our father's sake.~"

I started, staring. But Eldarion merely walked away, not speaking.

Eldarion _never_ joked about our father. If he had invoked our father, he was serious – both in the belief that Haldir could be saved . . . and in the belief that I could save him.

That, for some strange reason, gave me a small measure of courage.

I could, at least, _try_.

For Haldir's sake.

For my brother's sake.

For my . . . For my father's sake.

~ _Legolas_ ~  
Aragorn's angry voice broke through like a sword slices through water. All around it came the banging of the Uruk-hai on the door, the clamor as we fought to hold them back . . . and the screams of those who were dying. But Aragorn's voice carried clearly and strongly nonetheless, empowered by anger and rage for those who were dying or dead.

"You said this fortress would never fall while your men defend it. They still defend it. They have died defending it!"

But Théoden wasn't moved. He was a daze, this king, and could not be roused.

Not yet, anyways.

Aragorn tried another tactic. "Is there no other way for the women and children to get out of the caves?" he demanded.

There was no answer – from anyone.

"Is there no other way?" Aragorn demanded again, this time louder and harsher.

Finally, Gamling answered. "There is one passage," he revealed. "It leads into the mountains. But they will not get far. The Uruk-hai are too many."

Aragorn seized Gamling's shoulder and almost forcibly propelled him to the caves. "Then send word for the women and children to make for the mountain pass. And barricade the entrance!"

Théoden seemed to awake then, and soberly, absently, in a monotone voice said, "So much death. What can men do against such reckless hate?"

I stared. These words were a grave difference from the righteous anger and defiance the King had shown in making the decision to move to Helms Deep instead of staying at Edoras and defending it against the army. Privately, I wondered if Théoden had lost his nerve _and_ his mind. It wasn't a nice thought, but I couldn't help thinking it.

Then Aragorn walked slowly up to Théoden and said, "Ride out with me."

Théoden turned, slowly, almost as if he wasn't surprised.

"Ride out and meet them," Aragorn said.

And to my great surprise, Théoden was responding to the low voice as he hadn't to the strong challenge. "For death and glory," he murmured.

"For Rohan. For your people," Aragorn said softly.

Gimli interrupted suddenly, and his words would have made no sense to anyone listening. "The sun is rising," he said gravely.

Aragorn, Eldarion, and I all looked to the window – and lo and behold, it was rising.

I remembered Mithrandir's words, remembered them so clearly it was like he stood beside me and was speaking calmly in my ear: "Look to my coming at first light on the fifth day. At dawn, look to the East."

But perhaps we wouldn't need Mithrandir.

For Théoden was assuming his kingship yet again; I could feel it, could hear it, could see it.

"Yes," he said. "Yes!" he exclaimed, proudly, loudly. "The horn of Helm Hammerhand shall sound in the deep . . . one last time."

"Yes!" Gimli cheered. Then he clambered away, up to blow the horn once more, but my eyes were focused on the sight right in front of me rather than the Dwarf.

"Let this be the hour," the king was saying, "when we draw swords together."

And Aragorn nodded to him, and I smiled, and Eldarion grinned like a young boy again.

When we were all mounted and ready, the men began to step back and stop barricading the doors. I unstrung my bow and put it back in the quiver; because now was the time for blade work, not archery.

"Fell deeds awake. Now for wrath. Now for ruin. And the red dawn!" Théoden cried.

Then the horn of Helm Hammerhand sounded, low and deep and clear, a call to arms, to battle, to victory. The sound waves made every cell in my body quiver with anticipation and shared comradeship.

"Forð Eorlingas!" Théoden shouted.

Then the door broke open and we charged forward.

For the next few minutes – or was it seconds? – we laid waste to any Uruk-hai unfortunate enough to be in our path. I didn't pay attention to where we were or where we were going; I just keep fighting and fighting and fighting. Uruk-hai fell under my blade as others scampered away, but in vain; we were riding on horses and faster and armed. And we had nothing left to lose. There's nothing more dangerous than an enemy with nothing left to lose.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. . .

I did . . . kind of . . . have something to lose.

But then I heard a whispered breath of a name, and it filled me with hope. I looked up and – there!

Mithrandir stood on the hill, Shadowfax whining in triumph as he reared. And beside him was _Éomer. _As I watched, Mithrandir said something to Éomer, and the Man proudly retorted something to him.

And then he raised his sword and shouted a command that echoed over the hill: _"_Rohirrim!" There was a scant pause, and then – "To the king!"

With a mighty roar, the Rohirrim plunged towards us. The Uruk-hai barely mustered a defense, and when they did, Mithrandir raised his staff . . . and the sun rose with blinding power to shield the Rohirrim from the spears and swords of the now-blinded Uruk-hai. Dismayed and now outnumbered, they broke ranks and fled.

Cheering, the Rohirrim and what Men we had left joined together and chased the Uruk-hai out.

However, at least Éomer had enough sense to stop the wild chase when we reached the edge of the Fangorn Forest.

_"_Stay out of the forest! Keep away from the trees!" he shouted, waving his sword back for emphasis.

Thankfully, his Men headed his words. Eldarion pulled his own horse to a stop and watched with narrowed eyes as the last of the Uruk-hai scrambled and then vanished into the trees. I watched as well, lowering my blades. They wouldn't be needed – not anymore.

And then horrible sounds emerged from the forest, grinding and sharpening and death all rolled into one terrible drawn-out ancient scream.

I sighed. It was over. Finally. It was over.

All around me, I could see the thought sinking in. Warriors were relaxing, were congratulating and joking and slapping each other's backs. Eldarion let lose a sigh next to me, wearily sheathing his blade and grinning tiredly. Théoden visibly relaxed and smiled. Even Mithrandir smiled as he turned his horse and we all slowly started home.

When we were dismounting back at Helms Deep, a figure appeared at the top of staircase.

Èowyn.

She touched Aragorn's face, as though she couldn't believe it, and then they embraced tightly. Relief filled the young woman's face, and she closed her eyes and rested her head on Aragorn's shoulder.

It was then that I noticed the dark look on Eldarion's face as he watched.

For a moment, I wondered why he was upset. Aragorn was a grown Man and a budding heir to the King's throne; soon he would choose a Queen. Besides, if Aragorn hadn't, Eldarion wouldn't be standing here right now anyways. . .

But before I could question him, Èowyn suddenly pulled away.

"I meant to give you a message, I just . . . I forgot," she said hastily, her eyes still on Aragorn.

"What is it?" Aragorn asked, frowning.

"It's Estel." She paused, and then added lowly. "She says Haldir is dying."

In the next moment, the dark look on Eldarion's face and my questions for him were completely forgotten as we all took off running for the healer's halls.


	36. Chapter 35

Day 4 of my final finale! During this chapter, we see if the power of the Elessar is enough to save Haldir from the Halls of Mandos. . .

* * *

**_Chapter Thirty-Five_**

~ _Eldarion_ ~  
My sister looked grey.

No, worse than that. Much, much worse.

My sister looked as though she was standing at doors to the Halls of Mandos right that every moment.

I ran to her side without thinking, but the second I touched her shoulder, a flash of white-hot heat flew through my body like lightning flashes to the ground. Startled, I nearly fell over.

Aragorn skidded to a halt, staring. "The Elessar," he breathed.

Estel was kneeling by Haldir's side, her head bowed over his still body and her hands placed over his heart. But cupped in her hands was the Elessar. The green gem was glowing gently but strongly, casting emerald flecks of light that seemed even brighter than the sunlight all over the room.

And Haldir . . . was . . . _alive_.

Well, breathing, at least. And breathing steadily, on his own. His eyes were closed, but . . . at least he was breathing.

I felt like laughing out loud. I felt like dancing. I felt like cavorting around like a very drunk troubadour and shouting to the whole world that Haldir was alive, that he had survived, _that he would live_. The worst was over; now that Aragorn was here, it was more than a sure bet that Haldir would live.

But Legolas was touching Estel's shoulder, his beautiful face marred with concern. "Estel. Estel!"

She didn't respond, and for a second cold fear stirred within the depths of my heart. She had saved Haldir. But what had it cost her?

But then Estel's eyes fluttered open and a cough rattled her body. "Legolas . . . I . . ." With those few words, she seemed to lose strength; her eyes rolled back and she nearly collapsed on the floor.

Legolas caught her, firmly but gently. "Estel, what did you . . . do?" he asked, his voice amazed.

"I tried . . ." Then she remembered Haldir, and concern flared in her grey-blue eyes. "Haldir!" she exclaimed, weakly struggling against Legolas's hold. "Is he . . . Has he . . ."

Aragorn shook his head as he moved so she could see him. "He is safe. For now." His eyes softened as he reached out to touch her cheek. "~You did well, Estel. You have well-earned your name.~"

But she didn't seem to hear him. "Aragorn . . . Please don't . . ." She struggled to get the words out, and it seemed to me that she grew weaker with every word.

Legolas seemed to sense it too. "That's enough," he said sharply. "Aragorn, Eldarion; tend to Haldir. He'll need you. But you, Estel – you've done more than enough. You need rest before you fall dead on your feet."

"But – "

"No buts," Legolas interrupted. Leaning down, he slipped an arm under her legs and carefully lifted her.

I stood as well, picking up the Elessar and pressing it into my sister's hand.

It was well that I did that earlier, for moments later her eyes slid shut and she went limp in Legolas's arms. The Elf immediately cradled her closer, shifting so her head rested on his shoulder rather than lolling limply without support.

"I'll make sure she rests," he said. "She needs it."

Aragorn clasped his shoulder briefly before turning to Haldir. I prepared myself as well; this was going to be a long night.

Then Aragorn smiled suddenly. "She channeled her life force into him; he should make it." He looked at Estel, smiling. "He definitely should make it."

I stared. "I had heard of such things from those who came before us, but . . ."

"It's a miracle," Legolas said simply. "But then, what else could we expect from those brought to us by a miracle?"

Then he turned and left.

As he did, I got the funny feeling that he wasn't just speaking those words to us, but to himself. That, of course, set me wondering: What did they really mean?

~ _Estel_ ~  
I struggled against the dark, heavy weight of whatever smothered me. I was in the state somewhere between being awake and alive and being asleep and dead. It wasn't exactly a pleasant feeling.

There was a fierce battle being fought.

On one hand, one voice chanted for me to give up, to let go, to just . . . leave. What was there left for me? I had done what was needed. Eldarion would live and be fine without me. The Valar had saved me for a reason, and surely I had fulfilled that.

But there was another voice, a strong one, one that argued that I had to wake up, I had to live, I just had to. For my brother, for myself, and for . . . Legolas.

Wait, the other voice said, why the Elf?

But for some reason, Legolas remained in my thoughts.

And then the veil suddenly lifted, and a warm, musical voice was calling my name. I followed it, and then –

I pried open my eyes and beheld the speaker. For a second, I couldn't believe my eyes. Then I managed to croak out, "Legolas?"

His face broke into a wide smile. "Estel. Thank the Valar. We were beginning to think that we'd lost you."

"And Haldir?"

The smile faded a tiny bit. "He's resting right now. He'll require many more days of care before we can be certain of how he'll turn out."

"But he'll live?"

Legolas smiled again. "There is no doubt anymore of that."

I sighed and sank back into the pillows, closing my eyes. _The fight _had_ been worth it. He's alive. He'll live._ Then I opened my eyes and slowly sat up. "Where am I exactly?" I didn't recognize this room, this place at all.

"In another part of the healer's halls," Legolas replied. "Other healers take their rest here when they've done enough."

"And how did I get here?"

He didn't blink. "I . . . carried you here. Don't you remember?"

I wanted to say _yes_. But my recollection – the warmth, the protection, the comfort – was a bit too personal and a more than touch hazy, as if I had consumed too much ale. It called somewhere deep inside of me, and I was almost afraid of it. I didn't want things to change. It was childish, but technically I was still a child in Legolas's eyes.

So I shook my head. "No."

"It doesn't matter. At least you're awake now."

He hesitated, and I frowned. Was something wrong? Legolas never was at a loss for words. He said what he meant and he meant what he said. He wasn't one to hide behind polite tones and honeyed words. And as a prince, he had all the reason to, but he did not.

"What's wrong?" I asked finally.

"Nothing," was the automatic response.

"You're lying," I said, amused when his blue eyes widened slightly in surprise. "What, you think I can't tell?"

He laughed then, and the tension in him eased somewhat. "If you're well enough to argue with me, then I'd say you're well enough to eat. Hungry?"

"Starving," I admitted reluctantly.

He laughed again and stood. "I'll be right back."

~ _Legolas_ ~  
Estel looked a lot healthier when she was done eating. She was smiling and her skin had returned to its healthy color and her grey-blue eyes were shining again. Food and rest had worked its usual magic.

"Legolas?"

I looked up. "Yes?"

Her grey-blue eyes locked on to mine, and I suppressed a shiver. She was more like Lord Elrond than she realized. Including excluding the feeling that she was gazing at your very soul just by simply looking at you.

"Something's bothering you," she stated, turning to face me completely.

I leaned back, lowering my eyes a bit. "~It's nothing, little one,~" I said, accidentally slipping into Elvish.

Her eyes narrowed. Yep, Estel knew an evasion when she saw – or, in this case, heard – one. "Legolas, what is bothering you?"

"Nothing."

She touched my shoulder lightly, startling me so much that I stared at her. We had become much closer during our journey, but still. . . There was still a distance between us, a distance casual touching had not yet closed. We were still separated by the thin barrier of race and gender.

"~Is it the torch-bearer?~" Estel asked quietly. "~The one we failed to bring down?~"

Misery flooded me. So she knew. Like all the others she knew.

And she probably despised me for my weakness, which had cost us even more lives when the bomb went off and the Uruk-hai got in.

"Why do you say 'we'?" I asked bitterly.

Estel stared. "Because we both shot at it, and we both failed," she said quietly.

"The fault is mine alone," I snapped, standing and turning away. But I couldn't speak to her that way. In the end, my voice had softened when I finished. "Do not attempt to bear it."

"Fault? What fault?" Estel sounded genuinely confused, but . . .

I whirled around, suddenly angry and not quite sure why. "It was my fault, Estel! Do not expect me to believe that you were so blinded by the rain, so confused by the heat of battle that you failed to see that _I failed to bring him down_! It is my fault – the children who have lost their fathers, the widows who had lost their husbands, the sisters who have lost their brothers! If they seek who is to blame, here he stands!"

Estel stared, stunned surprise in every line of her face. Then she stood. "~Oh, Legolas – this is what eats at you so?~"

"What?"

She walked up to me, looking up at me, her grey-blue eyes soft and full of compassion. "Legolas, listen to me. It was not your fault, not in any way. Don't tell me _you_ have forgotten that I shot at the torch-bearer as well and that he still managed to get past us."

"But – "

Estel startled me yet again by placing her fingers on my lips, silencing me. "No buts, Legolas," she said, smiling at my startled look.

I pushed away her hand, but gently. "How can you look at me and not despise me?" I whispered. "How can you, when my mistake nearly cost you and Aragorn and your brother your lives?"

"They didn't die," she said quietly. "I am quite alive, thank you."

"But – "

With that, Estel seemed to lose patience. She grabbed my hand and practically dragged me to the window. "Look, Legolas. What do you see?"

"People. Horses. Smoke."

"Yes." She touched my shoulder. "_Alive_ people. People you helped save."

I turned to her and she was smiling, her eyes almost watery in the light. "How can I ever despise you after the aid you have rendered to me and my brother, Legolas?" she whispered. "How could I ever?"

Without thinking, I gathered her into my arms. For a long moment, there was silence. And in that silence, I realized the truth in her words – she did not despite, hate, or blame me in the least. In fact, she was just as likely to blame me as she would blame Aragorn; that is, she would never. Actually, more likely she was blaming herself. . .

At that thought, I drew back and studied her face. "I'll give you a deal, all right?"

Estel tilted her head, confused. "What – "

"If I promise to stop blaming myself, will you promise in return stop blaming yourself for what happened?"

Estel blinked, surprise flooding her young face. "How – "

I smiled. "You're not the only one who can guess correctly, you know. You're hard to read, but not with things like this."

She stuck her tongue out childishly.

"Well? Do we have a deal?"

Estel muttered something sullenly under her breath.

"Estel . . ."

"Fine! Yes, whatever," she muttered.

I was about to reply to that when a strong voice emanated from the doorway. "Estel! You're awake!"

She ran from me, then, straight for Eldarion and they embraced. Only relief shone in his face as he beheld his younger sister, and I knew then that the bond between them was stronger than anything else I had ever known.

It almost made me wish that _I_ had had a sibling.

Then Eldarion spoke again, and the thoughts were banished as I took in the sight of Estel smiling so contentedly.

"We're going out for a ride with Mithrandir and Théoden," he announced. "Coming?"


	37. Chapter 36

Day 5 and thus the final day of my final finale! Today we see the unexpected surprise that I hinted about earlier – one that will change Estel's and Eldarion's world forever. . .

* * *

**Chapter Thirty-Six**

~ ___Éomer_ ~  
I patted my horse's shoulder and sighed as I looked around. We were all ready to go – Mithrandir, my uncle, Aragorn, the others. The only ones who weren't here were one of Aragorn's Rangers and Legolas. So the Ranger had left to find the Elf – wherever he was. I hoped he would hurry. My horse was getting impatient to leave, and so was I.

Then, just as I was about to suggest that we leave anyways, the Ranger finally appeared at the door. He moved swiftly to his horse and swung himself up with an ease that suggested long hours of practice.

My skin prickled. I had never seen anyone move so swiftly and fluidly – except, perhaps, the Elves.

Legolas appeared next, and he mounted his horse with the same graceful ease that clearly defined him as something _not_ mortal in any way. His movements were too graceful, to sure, to fluid. There was no way I could ever mistake him for a Man.

And then the Elf frowned suddenly and made a sharp gesture with his hand. The rider who had ridden up beside him tossed her head impatiently in response.

Wait – _her_?

It was _Elena_ riding next to Legolas.

She looked no worse for wear because of the battle. True, a bit worn – but what warrior came out of a long battle perfectly fine? But in any case, she looked pretty much back to normal and definitely a lot better than she had looked when we came across her on the plains. Her eyes were clear, her smile shining, her face happy and relaxed.

"Ah, just leave her be, Legolas," Aragorn called. "She'll be perfectly fine."

The Elf's lips hardened. "Not if any of Saruman's servants sees her," he retorted grimly.

Elena didn't back down, which I admired. It took guts to stand up to Legolas – especially as he looked right now. "Legolas, I'll be fine."

When the Elf merely looked away instead of responding to her words, she added something softly in a musical language that didn't sound like anything I had ever heard. It sounded as graceful and mysterious and fluid as the Elves themselves, so I assumed it was Elvish.

But whatever she said, Legolas seemed to relax somewhat. He sighed deeply, shaking his head, but I saw how he gently reached out and touched her hand.

"Are we ready, then?" Mithrandir asked.

Our answer was to start riding, which I was grateful for. I was tired of standing still and impatient to get moving and do something, anything. I didn't like battle, but I needed _something_ to do.

I could well understand Legolas's concern, though. Elena was not only young; she was also a woman. Therefore, more delicate, more fragile, more breakable. And, by the judging of Saruman, more worthless – but did not mean that he would hesitate to use her as a weapon against us by any means possible.

Legolas rode ahead, and I saw him begin speaking rapidly to Aragorn – again with that musical language. Slightly annoyed at the speaking in Elvish while also glad for the opportunity, I rode forward myself.

Elena looked at me and smiled. "Lord Éomer," she greeted, inclining her head.

"Lady Elena," I responded.

"I'm not a lady; you need not call me that, you know," Elena said neutrally after a pause, and I could see that she meant it; it was not a gesture of trying to gain my trust or attention. It was exactly how she felt, and she didn't really mind how I took it.

"After all you have done for Rohan, I believe you deserve the title," I said gently, wondering how she would take my words.

She frowned, seeming almost . . . surprised, that was the word, by what I had said. "All I have done?" she repeated. "You speak as if I have rendered great aid to Rohan. May I point out that all I have done was fight alongside you in the battle? Isn't that something any of your warriors would have done? And yet you do not honor them as you attempt to honor me. . . No, I see no great service rendered; nothing that would earn me the title of Lady, to be recognized as such by the heir of Rohan."

I flushed. "You know?"

Elena smiled again, her frown easing. "Obviously. I knew who you were from the moment I saw you. Who would you be confused with, after all?"

Pleased and not quite sure why, I shifted the topic back to her. "You don't seem to understand. Women rarely fight in battle – especially those with no tie to Rohan. And yet – "

"No tie to Rohan?" she interrupted.

"Well," I stuttered, "you don't. . . I beg your deepest pardon, my lady, but you are no daughter of Rohan. I would have known you if you were."

Elena laughed then, a bright sound that seemed to make the day seem brighter too. I saw the Ranger favor her with an amused and gentle look before returning to his conversation with Aragorn and Legolas. Aragorn didn't look up, but I could see how his lips curved into a slight smile. Even the Elf relaxed somewhat.

"Rohan is an ally to Gondor," Elena said finally. "And I am an ally of Gondor, my life to be given in her service. Therefore, I will fight for Rohan whether or not I am a daughter of it."

To say I was startled was an understatement. Before, she had told me she was one of the Dúnedain. And now, she was saying she was . . . "You're a shieldmaiden?" I asked finally.

"Well . . . not quite," Elena said, frowning. "The Dúnedain are not . . . We are not protectors of Gondor in that sense. I do not fight in every battle we come across, merely those I end up in; it is better to leave such determinations to the judgment of my Chieftain."

"Chieftain?"

"Lord Aragorn," she said simply, nodding to him.

"Is he your kinsman?"

She smiled. "In a way, all of the race of the Atani are related, Lord Éomer," she said gently.

"Well, closely related then," I amended, not quite sure what she had meant by the word "Atani". It was Elvish, I was sure; but what it meant I did not know.

"Then yes." She cast him a fond look. "After all, it was he who played a great part in my upbringing after my father's death. . . You do not understand; that much I see. But the Dúnedain are not like the Rohirrim, in more ways than one. We are not bound to one particular country or another; all that is clear is who our enemy is, and that is the Dark Lord and all of his servants. But while Rohan needs our aid, so shall we give it."

"And yet you leave Gondor unprotected?"

For a long moment, she didn't answer. Her face grew sad and almost . . . haunted. For a moment, I feared I had offended her deeply and so prepared to apologize.

But then she said, in a soft, low voice, "Gondor falls under the watch of Mordor even as we speak; it shall not be long before she, like Rohan, is embattled. And I fear that the strike shall be swift as well as lethal."

"But you will give her aid?" I asked incredulously. "Even though she has done nothing for you?"

She gave me a sidelong look. "And after all the King gave to you, you still rode to his aid?"

"That's different."

"Not really. He is your family, and Gondor is mine. I will aid her as I have aided you, regardless of what she has done to me."

I studied her for a long moment. Her eyes were clear and serious; her voice even and calm. She meant what she had said, and for that time, I knew she meant it. She would not flee from her duty, no matter how much she wished to; no, her loyalty to Aragorn and the Dúnedain was too deep for that. She would stay – and she would die.

Gondor was strong, but so was Rohan. Neither of us were strong enough to fend off Sauron's forces, especially now that Saruman's forces had joined them.

"So you will die for Gondor?"

"If that is what the Valar desire," she answered calmly.

"But she has given you nothing except – "

"Gondor gave me life, as Rohan gave you life," Elena interrupted firmly. "The least I can do is give my life to defend Gondor. Wouldn't you do the same thing if it were Rohan in question?"

Then, without waiting for an answer, she rode ahead.

And I stared in dismay and surprise. But at least my original judgment had been right – the Lady Elena was a great deal more than she seemed to appear to be.

~ _Estel_ ~

We stopped on an outcropping, staring at the flaming and crackling land Mordor had become. The Eye of Sauron raged at us, and I feared to look at it. I knew it was filled with rage for our victory at Helm's Deep, and that Sauron was willing to do absolutely anything to destroy us for that, to crush us, to end our life in eternal torment.

A hand brushed mine, and I looked up. Legolas's eyes were full of gentle sympathy.

"~You will be fine,~" he said gently. "~Sauron will not hurt you, not if I have anything to say about it.~"

His words brought some relief, but along with the relief came confusion. Why did he say "I" and not "we", as he always had? Eldarion would fight for me as much as Legolas would, and perhaps even more, for Eldarion and I were blood kin.

"~Thank you,~" I told him anyways.

Mithrandir spoke then, his tone full of dreadful prophecy. "Sauron's wrath will be terrible, his retribution swift. The battle for Helm's Deep is over. The battle for Middle-Earth is about to begin."

I looked at the furious Eye of Sauron, and I knew he spoke true. Sauron would not rest now or ever, and nor would he need to. Not until he had crushed us – or by some miracle, we managed to win the day. But that would really be a miracle. . .

Mithrandir seemed to be thinking along the same lines, but at least when he voiced them his tone was warmer and full of a lot more hope. "All our hopes now lie with two little hobbits, somewhere in the wilderness. . ."

The others gave him strange looks, but Legolas, Aragorn, Eldarion, and I all understood. And silently, I offered a quick prayer to the Valar about Frodo and Sam. _Please help them. They will do more for this place than I ever will in my lifetime. . . Please help them, watch over them, give them aid and shelter and direction. I know they will need it._

Then there was a sudden sound, one that made our entire group start.

It was the clip-clop of horses, and suddenly I found myself reaching suspiciously for my weapons. Who in the world would be out here in the middle of nowhere on horseback?

~ _Legolas_ ~  
Quietly, I shifted my horse so that I was in between whoever was approaching and Estel. I saw others prepare for a fight too – Eldarion shifted so that his sword was in reach, Aragorn put his hand on his sword, Théoden moved his reins to one hand. Others moved as well. The battle had left us tense and cautious, ready to jump at the slightest noise. And not knowing whether it was friend or foe that came certainly didn't help things. . .

Then the riders came into view.

They were clad in dark hooded cloaks that concealed their faces, and both rode with the effortless grace and ease of born riders. They had no weapons – well, at least no visible weapons. But their horses were simple and regular ones, like those one could buy at a market or something.

Both riders halted within speaking distance – but not too close.

"Greetings, Mithrandir," said one rider. She – for she was obviously a woman – had a clear, strong voice that carried easily and had an undercurrent of nobility and self-confidence. "And hail to you, Théoden King!"

"And to Lord Elessar of Imladris," added the second rider. She was a woman as well, but her voice reflected one not long into womanhood; she was younger than the first speaker, that much was clear.

I started, as did the others who understood what she said. But Eldarion didn't start; he was frowning almost thoughtfully at the women.

"I think I speak for all of us when I ask thus," Aragorn said finally. "Who are you?"

But the women ignored him.

"Mithrandir," said the first speaker, "we bear a message from Treebeard. He says that the Uruk-hai who entered Fangorn Forest have been dealt with. They are at peace now. They did not return to Isenguard."

"And all those who are foolish enough to stray into Fangorn's depths will suffer the same fate," the second rider murmured. "For you have awoken the Forest, and now it will fight."

Mithrandir nodded slowly. "I see. . . And who are you to tell me this?"

I was slightly relieved by the fact that not even Mithrandir knew, but also unnerved by that. If even the White Wizard didn't know, how would any of us know whether these two women were foe or friend?

At his words, the younger woman looked at the first speaker. At a slight nod, both women raised their hands and pushed back their hoods.

The older women had long blond hair and clear blue eyes. But even though I knew she was older, I could not put an age to her. She didn't have the sense of agelessness as many of my kindred did, but there was a vague yet strong sense of quiet wisdom and experience about her that prevented me from simply passing her off as a young woman inexperienced in ways of the world.

The younger woman was a sharp contrast in almost every way. She had long dark hair that was longer even than Estel's and fell unbound down her back, framing grey eyes that were as grey as the starlit evening. She was a beauty, even more than Estel, and brimming with energy and youth instead of the calm and experience of the older woman.

The moment after the women lowered their hoods, Eldarion sprang off of his horse with a cry and ran towards them.

Estel gasped as though she had been kicked in the gut and leaped off of her horse as well – but I seized her wrist as she passed, stopping her.

"What are you doing? They might be dangerous!" I exclaimed.

Estel pulled her wrist away. "Legolas, _let go_! That's my mother! And my sister, Tinúviel!"

* * *

Dun dun dun! Surprise, everyone!

Oh, and to anyone who's confused as to why Éomer still calls Estel "Lady Elena"; remember that when they met in Chapter 20, Aragorn gave her false name to protect her when they came across the Rohirrim. And he still doesn't know the truth yet, so he still thinks her name is Elena and no one has yet told him he's mistaken. He also hasn't yet met Eldarion, so he refers to him simply as "the Ranger".


	38. Chapter 37

This and the next three chapters are, like Chapter 19, a bit of an interlude between the end of The Two Towers and The Return of the King. And, once again, they also help to tie up some loose ends. However, _unlike_ Chapter 19, they also plant some new beginnings as well.

* * *

**_Chapter Thirty-Seven_**

~ ___Estel_~  
I threw my arms around my mother, barely able to see her through my tears. I hadn't seen her in so long, but the sight of her was like a blade into my heart – it was sharp and piercing, and I was compelled to act. After all, she was my mother and I had believed her dead for so long. . .

But there was no way I could have mistaken my mother for anyone else, even though I only remembered her through a child's eyes and point of view.

"~Estel, my child, my dearest child,~" my mother murmured. Her arms were just as tight around me as mine were around her, and her voice was filled with barely held back tears. "~Oh, how I have missed you. . .~"

When I finally let go, she held tight on to my shoulders and let her gaze travel over me. Her eyes were full of pride and sadness when she was done, and she smiled with effort.

"~You have grown, my child,~" she said. "~You are no longer the little girl I remember.~"

Eldarion turned to us then, done kissing my sister on both cheeks in greeting, as was traditional among family members of the Believers. I stepped out of the way and moved to greet my sister, who bypassed the kissing on the cheeks and enfolded me in a tight, sisterly hug that spoke of her much she had missed me.

"~Hello, my sister,~" Tinúviel greeted.

"~How – How did you survive?~" I stuttered finally, looking at my mother and sister.

My mother sighed, and the happiness on my sister's eyes dimmed somewhat. Whatever had happened had not been happy – and that must have been _on top_ of the forced separation from Eldarion and me and my father.

"~I think,~" my sister said slowly, "~that explanations should wait for another time. . . Brother, why don't you introduce us before the Rohirrim decide to feather us with arrows?~"

Eldarion chuckled once. "~As you wish, Lady Tinúviel.~" Then he turned to the group.

Aragorn and Legolas wore perplexed expressions on their face, even though they had understood the Elvish that we had spoken in. And everyone else was just simply confused, because of course they didn't understand Elvish at all. But Mithrandir. . . He didn't look confused _or_ surprised. Not at all. Rather, he seemed . . . happily content with his ignorance in what had happened just now, so long as _we_ understood and were happy because of that.

"Your Majesties," Eldarion said, his voice clear and strong, ringing with the joy and pride that was ours as a family. "This is my mother, the Lady Kiria, and my sister, the Lady Tinúviel. I beg your pardon for causing you confusion by not speaking in the common tongue, but Estel and I have not seen our mother and sister for many years, and we could not contain ourselves."

"Pardon is granted, then, if such a reason is the reason,"Théoden said after a moment. "And I welcome you, Lady Kiria, and you, Lady Tinúviel, to Rohan, though a sad condition that she is in."

My mother smiled. "I know of Rohan's condition, and it is not as hopeless or sad as you believe, Théoden King, for I have dwelt in Rohan for many years past, and I have seen her firsthand. . . No, she will survive and be all the more glorious for it."

Théoden blinked in surprise, but thankfully he said nothing. _I think he's had enough surprises for one day_, I decided.

"Can we return to Helm's Deep?" I asked, my eyes flickering briefly to Mithrandir.

He smiled. "I believe it is time. And making the ladies wait out here is never usually a good idea."

"~Hush, Mithrandir,~" Eldarion muttered, swinging himself onto his own horse.

Mithrandir chuckled once, but did not say anything more – which was probably a good thing, as Théoden and Éomer were looking tired of all of us speaking in a language they did not understand. Not that I really blamed them, though; it could get tiring to see us slipping so effortless into Elvish and therefore being able to speak without being understood by those around them. Others probably had no choice but to try and seclude themselves to not be overheard, while we had the advantage of using Elvish instead.

As the others set off, I urged my horse into a trot with a smile and a gladness that I hadn't felt since I had met my brother.

~ _Éowyn_ ~  
When everyone returned, I noted with a frown that there were more horses coming in than had gone out. Two more, actually. And their riders – there. And then I frowned even more when I found the riders. They were two women, actually, one older and one younger – but both were breathtakingly beautiful.

The older woman had a subtle beauty, the kind that first you just skip over and then you find you just can't look away from. With the aura of quite experience and the noble air that came with the way she carried herself, I could barely take my eyes off of her.

And the younger was just _beautiful_. Even had she been dressed in rags, I could never have failed to mistake her beauty. There was no doubt in my mind that she possessed the beauty of the Elves, but in a different way than Estel.

And speaking of Estel. . . Where was she?

But no – she was right there too. Talking and laughing with the two new women. Did she know them?

"Éowyn."

I turned to see my uncle there, taking off his cloak. He seemed exhausted now that I got a better look at him, and about ready to collapse the second he had nothing to do or tend to or worry about. I immediately turned my attention to him; the questions about the new women could wait for now.

But he seemed to have already guessed what was up.

"They are the Lady Kiria and Lady Tinúviel," he said, walking to stand beside me.

"Do Estel and Eldarion know them?"

"I would hope so."

His tone was amused and reflective yet with a hint of sadness. Confused, I turned back to him, wondering why he would answer like that.

"What do you mean, my lord?"

He laughed. "Éowyn, the Lady Kiria is their mother. And Lady Tinúviel is their sister."

_Oh. . . That makes a lot more sense now._ Now I could suddenly see the resemblance and the affection between the four – mother, sisters, brother. They were truly a little family down there, with the affection and the familiarity to prove it. And it would explain why when I saw the two, I immediately thought of Estel and Eldarion.

"How are the wounded?"

"We are seeing to them. And now that you and the others have returned, at least we have more healers."

"Supplies?"

I shrugged. "At worse, we can always send out hunters."

He smiled. "You're a good one, Éowyn. Sometimes I wonder if you'll ever find someone good enough for you. . . But enough of my rambling. I'm going to get some rest and then I'll hold a meeting to find out what we'll do next."

I kissed his cheeks and bowed. "Yes, my lord."

I cast a glance down, seeing that Aragorn and Legolas had now joined the little family. _I've found a man worthy of me. But now the question becomes – Does he want me?_

~ _Tinúviel_ ~  
Aragorn's gaze was clear as he gazed at me. "~So . . . You bear the Evenstar, then?~" he asked in a low voice.

"~Yes, my lord.~" Without thinking, I lifted a hand to curl my fingers around the precious inheritance. The Evenstar of Arwen Undómiel, she who was one of the ancestors of the Believers and who had made our existence possible. Just as the Elessar belonged to my sister, Estel, and the Ring of Barahir to my brother, Eldarion, the Evenstar belonged to me.

Legolas nodded slowly. "~You were named well,~" he commented. "~You look a great deal like your namesake.~"

I smiled slightly. "~Thank you, Your Majesty,~" I replied.

The Elf sighed when I said his title. "~Do you _all_ know who I am?~" he demanded in a frustrated tone, his eyes flitting to my sister.

"~Yes,~" Estel and Eldarion said as one.

"~Why, do you not like your title?~" my mother asked, resting a placating hand on my sister's shoulder. "~Would you deny that which is your birthright?~"

"~No. But I would rather be treated as an equal among friends. Besides, your bloodline is as vaunted as my own, and yet you do not go by your title,~" Legolas pointed out. "~Why, then, and I different from you?~"

At this, my mother and I hesitated to answer. We didn't know if the Prince knew of our secret. I was sure we could trust him – but would he be angry to know that he hadn't been told? And Aragorn – did he know? And could we tell him? He obviously recognized the Evenstar that I wore, but did he know of its significance in his future? And _should_ we tell him about his future and hope that he didn't alter it by trying to fix what had happened?

So many questions, and we had no answers.

But then Aragorn spoke. "~You need not fear to tell us the truth,~" he said gently. "~I know. Estel and Eldarion have already told us.~"

"~And I know as well,~" Legolas admitted. "~It is why we have both pledged ourselves to the defense of your children, Lady Kiria. Trust me when I say that I will allow no harm to befall them.~"

I could see how my mother sighed, her eyes closing and her shoulders relaxing. I too felt relief, for I trusted these two and it was gratifying to know that somewhere, someone was looking out of us. All of us.

"~I thank you for your words,~" my mother said finally. "~I do not like to bear the burden of secrets.~"

There was a momentary silence. No doubt Aragorn and Legolas were still getting used to the idea that more of us – well, from the future _us_ – survived. I was sure that they had had a great shock when they had met Estel and Eldarion (I would have to wring the story out of them later) and learned the truth of their existence. I mean, it wasn't every day that your very-far-in-the-future descendant popped up. And now with us reunited, it wasn't just _one_ descendant – it was all _four_ of us.

_Pity Father is not here_, I thought with a pang of sadness. My father would have loved to be here, to be with us. He loved my mother, despite the fact that it had been an arranged marriage that had brought them together. And he certainly loved us, his children and heirs.

"~Well,~" Aragorn said finally, "~I fear I must get back to the healing halls; there are many more wounded who have yet to be treated.~"

Eldarion nodded. "~I'll see to the barracks. I'll send anyone to you if I feel they're unfit.~"

But before the rest of them could split up, a young woman appeared in the crowd and headed towards us. She had long wavy pale blonde hair and blue eyes, very much like my mother. She carried herself with a regal air and confidence, despite her simple dress. I had no doubt that she was a shieldmaiden or something – someone from the King's court.

Sure enough, Estel looked up and said, "Éowyn."

I struggled to contain my shock. So _this_ was Éowyn Èomundiel, niece of Théoden King, future wife of Faramir Denethorion – and the tie that allowed the blood of Rohan's royalty to flow in the veins of my family.

"You're back," Éowyn said, her eyes moving immediately to Eldarion. "And you've brought – survivors?"

"No," Eldarion replied. "Lady Éowyn, may I introduce my honored mother, the Lady Kiria, and my sister, the Lady Tinúviel."

Éowyn's expression settled into something – resign, perhaps? But why resign? And why had she come all the way from . . . from wherever she had been simply to find out if we were survivors? Surely she trusted her uncle's judgment in letting us enter. . .

"What is it, Éowyn?" Estel asked, cutting through the awkward silence.

"Healers are needed for the wounded," she explained shortly. "And everyone has been waiting for your return."

Aragorn nodded. "We were just going there. Eldarion – send anyone you find unfit. Estel – can you get some more supplies? Legolas – can you try to find some more herbs for me?" Each nodded at his words.

Then he turned to us, and his expression became respectful. "~I hate to ask for your aid – I can imagine you are weary and need rest – but we need help.~"

"I understand, my lord," my mother replied. In a lower voice, she added, "~As Chieftain, you need not worry of being disrespectful.~"

Aragorn smiled slightly. My mother's words had been just short of blunt, reminding him that he still was the Chieftain of the Dúnedain and that he had to maintain that appearance when not around those who knew the truth about us – such as Lady Éowyn.

"My mother and I can see to those whom you have already treated and merely need rest," I offered. "It won't be too strenuous, even though we are tired."

"That will be good," Éowyn cut in, startling us all. "Lord Haldir needs constant supervision, even though the healers say that they have done all that they could for him."

The name struck a familiar chord within me. I subtly looked sideways at my brother, who gave me the tinniest nod possible. Ah. So I was right. They were speaking about Haldir, last Marchwarden of Lóthlorien – and one of those who had died a valiant death in the Battle of Helm's Deep fighting off the Uruk-hai.

My mother looked at me. I knew what she was thinking. I was a stronger Believer than she was, with stronger ties to my Elvish heritage – and I had the Evenstar as well. If anything went wrong, I'd know faster than she would.

"I will," I said.


	39. Chapter 38

**_Chapter Thirty-Eight_**

~ ___Haldir _~  
Everything was groggy around me, and that was the strangest sensation I had ever felt.

As Elves rarely got drunk or were drugged or – well, in the last 3000 or so years anyways – captured and knocked out, we rarely were forced to undergo the feeling of groggy and half-awake. Men did sometimes when they woke up too early, but of course the sleep of Men was not the same as the sleep of the Eldar. Nor were our dreams were the same, but that was a completely different matter, of course.

With a great deal of effort, I forced my eyes open. Thankfully, even though I felt groggy, the world wasn't hazy around me.

Slowly, I flexed first my fingers and then my wrists and then my arms. They seemed to be fine. Then I slowly moved my legs, reassuring myself that they too were fine. They were – which was strange, as I remembered the blinding pain coming from about where my spine would be, and that would have disabled my ability to walk completely.

But then again, I was also alive, and the blow should have also severed my ability to live as well.

And yet it had not.

I wondered at it momentarily before sitting up. I braced myself for pain – but none came. Raising a hand, I ran my fingers over my neck where the axe had hit me, but there was not even the faintest of scars to show it had landed.

_Either something very strange and very unnatural has happened, or I have already passed into the Halls of Mandos._

Then I turned, and the next sight drove that thought completely out of my mind.

A young woman stood near the door, still and silent as she looked out the window. Long dark hair, darker than the shadows of twilight and at once more lovely, rippled unbound down her back. Her eyes were grey at the starlit evening. Her long gown was the same silver blue color as the unclouded heavens. She was slender and graceful and the most beautiful creature I had ever seen in my entire life – which was saying something, as I was not young even by the standards of my people. In her face, there was a shining light that I was certain would have outshone the stars.

At first, I could barely open my mouth.

Then, as Beren had ere the Elder Days, I cried, "Tinúviel, Tinúviel!"

I had to be in the Hall of Mandos, dreaming, for this creature of such loveliness and grace and glory could be none other than Lúthien Tinúviel herself.

And then the woman turned, and she smiled. "Why do you call me by that name?"

Her voice was as beautiful as she – but in it I heard the qualities of the Atani. She was no Elf, even though she very likely had Elvish blood. But her voice was not as musical as my kindred. In other words, she was not Lúthien Tinúviel.

Slightly embarrassed, I replied, "Because I believed you to be indeed Lúthien Tinúviel. But if you are not she, then you walk in her likeness."

She nodded slowly. "So many have said," she said gently. "Yet her name, and her doom, is not mine."

"Who are you?" I asked finally, cautiously.

"I am the daughter of Lord Elessar, and am named Tinúviel," she answered gravely.

"Often it is seen," I said slowly, wondering how to phrase my thoughts, "that in dangerous days, men hide their chief treasure. Yet I marvel at Lord Elessar; for though I have met him and came across the camps of the Dúnedain, I have heard no word of you. How comes it that the world knows not of you, and that we have not met? Surely your father has not kept you locked in his hoard?"

"No," she said, and her sigh was the sigh of the cool mist of dawn as she returned her gaze to the window. "I have dwelt for a time in the land of Fangorn, and I have but lately returned to my Chieftain's side. It is many years since I last walked in the camps of the Dúnedain."

"I am sorry."

She turned to face me completely, compassion and gentleness in her eyes. "Do not be. You are not the first to mistake me as my ancestor."

There is silence, and I let it stand. I didn't know what else to say to her. She looked almost exactly like Arwen Undómiel – and therefore, as Lúthien Tinúviel was said to look like. And yet her features were softer and her beauty not as fierce as the Elves, results of the influence of the blood of Men in her veins. But for some reason, that did not make her beauty any more diminished in my eyes. If anything, I found myself amazed that she could look so much like one of us that I could hardly distinguish the difference.

"Did you rest well?" she asked.

"Yes."

She nodded. "Then I am afraid I must leave you. There are others who need my attention and care here."

"Of course, my lady," was all I could think of to say.

~ _Eldarion_ ~  
My sister seemed slightly shaken when I found her in the main hall. Aragorn had suggested we take a break to eat and get caught up with each other's news. Legolas had gone after Estel, and my mother and Aragorn were already waiting. The only missing person had been Tinúviel, and no one had had any idea of where she was.

I grabbed her arm. "Tinúviel."

She started. "Eldarion! I – I didn't see you," she stuttered, surprise in her clear grey eyes.

"I know." I started leading her out. "Where have you been? Everyone's been looking for you. Well, except for Legolas; he's looking for Estel right now. But at least we know where she is. Well, the general idea, anyway."

But Tinúviel remained silent, her expression a mix of shock and thoughtfulness.

I commented on it as we made our way to where everyone was waiting. "~Are you all right? You seem . . . shaken.~"

"~I _am_ shaken,~" she retorted, slipping as easily into Elvish as I did.

"~Why?~"

"~Haldir.~"

I frowned. Haldir, even semi-lucid, would surely not have said anything unbecoming of him. He was far too old and experienced for a little wound to set his tongue in a foul mood. "~What did he say to you?~"

Tinúviel opened her mouth to speak just as a voice rang out.

"Tinúviel! So glad you could deign to join us." It was our mother, and her voice was slightly sarcastic.

Tinúviel smiled ashamedly and dipped into a small curtsy. "~My apologies, Mother; my mind was not concentrating on the passage of time.~"

"~So I see,~" my mother remarked.

"~Well, come on and eat!~" Estel piped up from the table. "~I'm starving, and you're late!~"

Legolas laughed, and pretty soon we all joined in. It was just as I remembered from the old days – my mother smiling indulgently at my youngest sister; Tinúviel and I trying to act dignified and formal to show how grown-up we were; and Estel, being the spoiled baby of the family with a sharp wit and shining eyes.

Only now Legolas and Aragorn were part of the family as well. Legolas was laughing as much as my mother was, and Aragorn was shaking his head in amusement.

I looked around the table, at Aragorn, at Legolas, at Estel, at Tinúviel, and at my mother. _Our family just keeps getting bigger and bigger._ I paused. _And I don't think I would have it any other way._

_Now if only Father was here._

~ _Estel_ ~  
"~Now, Mother – when do you plan to tell us how you survived?~" my brother asked.

The meal was over, and we were lounging here now and relaxing and resting. We had all worked nonstop since returning, and it was nice to sit and talk and eat. Even Legolas was relaxed, leaning back in his chair with a peaceful expression on his face.

My mother frowned thoughtfully. "~I am not quite sure. . . But I know that someone else had a hand in it.~"

Eldarion looked sideways at me. _Someone played a huge hand in my survival as well_, I thought. _And I'm betting that it wasn't the Istari either._

"~What's this?~" Tinúviel asked, seeing the look.

I cleared my throat. "~Someone played a huge part in my survival as well, Mother. That's all. We were just considering the similarities between your survival . . . and my own.~"

My mother frowned deeply. I knew that she understood exactly what I meant by that, even more than Tinúviel. For my mother had been an adult when she "died" and she remembered exactly what living under the Stewards meant for Believers, even ones like us who concealed everything.

"~I see,~" she said softly, her eyes soft and compassionate. "~But for now, let us return to our story. You remember, of course, that your aunt and uncle woke you up and prepared you to leave; I had no hand in it. I regret that, but then again, I regret many things. . . When the fire broke out, Tinúviel and I were still sleeping. Your father wasn't home, of course, and nor was your brother, so we tended to sleep in late when he wasn't home to nag us. He would never have approved, but it's far too late for that. . ."

My mother's eyes grew distant and sad, and I knew at once that she was thinking of my father. She had loved him and he had loved her, even though it had been an arranged marriage. And I knew that his loss pained her more than anything else.

"~So,~" Tinúviel continued quietly, "~by the time we realized something was wrong, it was too late to do anything. It was painful. Very, very painful. And then I remember falling . . . just plain falling. Until we fell into a river of some sort, and then I remember talking in the distance and bright lights. Then . . . just darkness.~"

"~We fell unconscious,~" my mother explained. "~And when we woke up, we were in the care of the Ents. And we have stayed with them ever since.~"

There was a long silence as we absorbed the tale. Then Aragorn spoke. "~You have dwelt with them all this time, my lady?~"

"~Yes.~"

"~Why is it, then, that no one knew of your existence?~"

Tinúviel answered. "~We believe the Valar had a hand in our concealment. Not to mention that the Fangorn Forest is heavily protected and mostly empty; not many venture in – and return alive. But no, we have had no contact with anyone save the Ents until now.~"

Eldarion sighed, leaning forward. "~That sounds like me,~" he confessed. "~I fell into Lothlórien, and no one knew of my existence either. The wardens protected me, and no one recognized me for a Man – well, none of the other Men, of course. The wardens all knew, but they didn't seem to care.~"

My mother nodded before turning to me. "~And what of you, my child?~"

I shifted uneasily. Unlike Eldarion, I had not had the great fortune of falling into a place where I was protected shortly after everyone else's death. No, instead I had suffered – and I really didn't want to talk about it.

"~Estel?~"

I looked up. Legolas was looking at me, his blue eyes concerned. He put his hand over mine and squeezed it gently.

"~Aragorn can tell them, if you don't wish to,~" he reminded me softly.

"~Why?~" my mother demanded sharply. "~What is it? What went wrong, Estel?~"

"~Nothing, I just . . .~" I stood. I couldn't stay here and watch the expressions on the faces of my brother and my sister and my mother. I just couldn't see their reactions to what had befallen me. Even telling Lord Elrond and Lord Glorfindel had been an issue, and they had been practically full strangers then. I didn't want to imagine how my family would react.

"I can't stay here. I have to leave."

Then I bolted away as fast as I could, hiding the tears that were already beginning to fall.

* * *

Ah, yeah. . . The quotes from the part with Haldir's POV did come from the book, just in case they sounded familiar to anyone. I got the idea from pg. 1058, Appendix A: The Tale of Arwen and Aragorn. You can take a guess as to where it's going, but my mouth is sealed on this. . .


	40. Chapter 39

**_Chapter Thirty-Nine_**

~ _Éomer_~  
"Excuse me, but do you know where the Lady Elena is?"

The servant looked completely confused when I mentioned the name. "Who, my lord?"

"The Lady Elena."

"I don't know any lady of that name," the servant said. "And certainly no lady with that name in the healers halls."

I frowned. I knew she was here; I had just seen her this morning. . . Maybe she had left or something? "Has anyone left Helm's Deep?"

"No, sir."

"Then the Lady Elena must be here," I insisted. "I just saw her not a few hours ago."

"You are looking for the Lady Elena?" came a voice.

I turned. It was the one Aragorn had brought with him, a young man clad in the Ranger fashion and carrying the weapons of the Elves. He stood still as he surveyed me, pale blue eyes framed by dark brown locks.

"Yes, I am," I said finally, when it became clear he wasn't going to speak further.

"Why, may I ask?"

"I would like to speak with her."

He locked eyes with me, and it sent a shock coursing down my spine. There was now no doubt in my mind that he was a Ranger; young, but skilled in the arts of war. He was simply too . . . unnatural. He couldn't pass for a full-blooded Man when I was looking at him like this. His movements spoke too much of long training – and grace beyond that of any normal mortal.

"I see," he said quietly. "I will take you to her, then."

I followed him as he turned and strode away. It was obvious that he knew more than he was letting on, and I wondered how much I could push him.

"What is your name, Ranger?"

"Eldarion," he replied.

"An Elvish name," I remarked carefully.

He cast me a sideways look. "Of course. Every Ranger frequents the cities of the Eldar as well as the cities of Men. And with our heritage, we also take Elvish names."

"I see." I really didn't, but what else could I say? He and I were as different as night and day as possible. Comparing him to me was like trying to compare night to day; we were just too . . . _different_, in every way possible.

"Estel is my sister," he continued.

I blinked. "I'm sorry; who?"

He slowed. "Ah, my apologies." He turned to face me. "Elena is the name my sister uses when she encounters strangers and wishes to protect herself. Surely you understand that?" When I nodded, he explained, "Estel is her real name. So, next time you wish to find her, ask for Lady Estel, not Lady Elena. I can guarantee that you'll find her a lot quicker next time," he finished with a smile.

Then he gestured to the hall. "Here. Just go through this door, and you'll find her. Good day, Lord Éomer."

And then he was gone, just as suddenly and as quietly as he had appeared.

Shaking my head, I walked through the door – and sure enough Ele-uh, Estel was there. _I have to get used to her real name_, I thought. _And the fact that her little trick totally took me in. . ._

" . . . down and sleep," she was saying gently to the man. "Some water, and maybe some bread, but that's it; unless you fancy cleaning up whatever comes right back up. You'll be fine; just give it a couple more days."

"Yes, my lady," the man replied. "And thank you." Then he caught sight of me. "Lord Éomer, what brings you here?"

Estel turned, a smile on her face. "Ah, good afternoon, Lord Éomer. Give me a moment, will you? I need to some more check-ups and clean up a bit, and then I'll be with you."

"Of course, my lady."

I had barely counted to twenty before she reappeared.

"Now, did you need to see me?" she inquired.

For a long moment, I couldn't think of anything to say. Then I said slowly, "I met your brother."

"Indeed? And what did you discuss with him?"

I shifted. "Why didn't you tell me your real name when we met?" I asked, changing the topic.

"Ah. . . I see." She sighed. "A name is a sacred thing among my people. It is a sign a trust when given, and not something just given out easily. It is something that defines us, that makes us who we are – not just a random combination of letters and sounds. And I am a woman; telling the whole world who I am is not quite the best idea."

"I am sorry, I just . . ." I rubbed my forehead. "I can't really get my thoughts together." I cast about for another topic that was less offensive and more casual. "I didn't realize Eldarion was your brother."

She smiled. "I know. It's a rare person who can look at us and see that we are related. . . And it's even rarer for a person who cannot to admit that."

"So I'm one of those 'rare' people?"

"Yes."

"I have heard that you participated in the battle," I commented neutrally.

"Yes." She made a face. "Unfortunately."

"You don't like war."

"No," she said flatly. "And I don't think anyone should _want_ for battle either. Enough people die at a young age naturally; why should anyone seek to hasten that?"

"I didn't know you could fight."  
Estel shrugged. "Everyone learns at least self-defense in the camps of the Dúnedain; battle is just one step above. And Lord Aragorn took great care that we were educated thoroughly. Even though wielding a sword is something I haven't done in many years, I still can."

"But you put most of your faith in your Elvish weapons?" I noted, nodding at the bow and quiver on her back.

Another small smile played on her lips. "You are very observant. . . But, yes, I do."

I surveyed her as silence fell again. She was young, fair, and educated in battle. What a strange young woman, even out of the rumored Rangers. And she had the skills of a healer as well. _A very strange woman. . . But at she's open and friendly, and on _our_ side. I would hate to have to fight against her._

"You're very strange," I remarked suddenly.

Estel laughed at my words – but not unkindly. "So I've heard." She smiled at me again. "I need to get back to my work, I fear."

I inclined my head. "Then, my lady, it would be an honor to speak with you again – when you have some spare time, of course," I added hastily. "I do not wish to distract you from the work you have done for us."

Her eyes sparkled. "It will be a pleasure, my lord. And – "

Someone called her name, making me start. I hadn't heard anyone coming up behind me.

And then the Elf was there beside her, blue eyes alight. He spoke quickly to her, his tone conveying that something exciting had happened even though I couldn't get even the faintest gist of what he was saying. But whatever it was, Estel's eyes lit up as well, so I guessed it was something _very_ good as well as exciting.

"Yes, yes, coming," she said to him. "I'm sorry, my lord, but – "

"Go," I said, half laughing. "You can tell me later."

~ _Legolas_ ~  
Halfway to Haldir's room, when I judged that we were alone and no one was in earshot or eye range, I stopped abruptly. Then I grabbed Estel's arm, stopping her as well. She whirled around, startled by our sudden stop.

"~What is it?~" she asked, surprised.

"~Estel . . .~" I hesitated. How was I supposed to tell her this without sounding . . . condescending? I didn't want to offend her or cause anymore damage to her self-esteem, but she needed to know what I had to tell. Now, of course, the question was – how did I word it?

"~Legolas,~" she said, her tone amused, "~telling me might be a good idea.~"

I relaxed slightly. "~Estel, you know no one blames you for leaving.~" _Might as well get it out there._

Her expression became strained and she half turned. "~It was weak of me.~"

"~No, it wasn't. We all know you suffered greatly. No one blames you for it, or thinks you the weaker for it. You didn't have a choice.~"

"~We always have a choice.~"

I gripped her shoulder gently and turned her around. "~Estel, listen to me,~" I said fiercely in a low voice. I locked eyes with her, wanting her to understand that I spoke the truth. "~_No one blames you. No one thinks you were weak._ Do you hear me? _No one._ If there is anyone foolish enough to blame you or think you weak, then they are the weak ones – and they are sadistic beyond belief in thinking that.~"

"~But, Legolas,~" she tried.

"~No, Estel.~"

"~Legolas, you don't understand!~" She pulled away from my grip and moved to the window, clenching the windowsill so tight I feared it would crack. She was right next to me, but at the same time it seemed that she was far away.

I turned. "~Why don't I?~" I asked softly.

"~Every night, they . . . came for me.~" Her words seemed wrenched out of her, from the darkest, deepest, surreptitious part of her. "~Every night. And after a while I just stopped fighting. I just . . . couldn't fight anymore. I just let them do whatever they wanted. I didn't even fight.~" She laughed bitterly. "~After all that time, they got what they wanted. They broke me, and I couldn't even raise a finger in my own defense.~"

I reached out and tentatively put my hand on her shoulder. "~They didn't break you.~"

"~If they didn't break me, I would have fought back against them. And – And I should have. I should have. . .~"

Her shoulders were already shaking at that point, and I could see tears glittering on her cheeks. Inwardly, I marveled at how deeply she had buried these feelings. Outwardly, I raged at those who had caused these feelings in her – to attempt to break a girl who meant no harm, simply because her background and beliefs.

Carefully, I reached out and pulled her close to me. Elves weren't prone to emotional outbursts and we avoided expressive displays, but after travelling with Estel for this long, I was sort of used to it. Her blood had a great deal of Elvish influence, but her human blood showed as well sometimes. She was as expressive as she was quiet, plain as she was beautiful, simple as she was convoluted. But one thing was for sure – she tended to bury her own feelings down deep.

This particular thought of hers was wrong, of course. I guessed that she only thought it because of the abuse she had gone through. No Elf or Dúnadan would have said the things she was repeating.

"~Estel,~" I said quietly. "~These thoughts ill become you. It was not your fault, nor will it ever be, that they forced themselves on you. If we truly thought you weak, don't you think you could tell?~"

"~You're hard to read,~" she said quietly, still trembling against my side.

"~Estel . . . You know my kindred isn't one to express things lightly, even among friends.~"

"~I know.~"

I hugged her gently. "~Estel, listen to me. No one thinks you are weak, and no one blames you. Especially not me. The only people I blame are the ones who did this to you, and Valar forbid I ever meet them.~"

"~I hope you are joking,~" she said uneasily.

I sighed. "~I'm not, but . . . Never mind.~" Gently, I brushed my fingers under her eyes, wiping away her tears. "~Do you hear me, Estel?~"

"~I hear you.~"

I tentatively stroked her long hair. It was soft, despite the tangles – as Estel hadn't probably had the time or the inclination to fuss about her hair – and if I hadn't know who it was I held, I could have sworn the hair belonged to one of my own kindred.

When she finally stilled, her head still pressed against my collarbone, I spoke.

"~Are you all right?~"

"~Yes. I think.~"

I drew back reluctantly, releasing her. Estel looked better and calmer, but now that I had glimpsed the hurting side of her, I got the feeling I would never be able to look at her and see just the strong, impassive mask that she wore. Not anymore.

I took her hand. "~Come on; let's go, shall we?~"

~ _Estel_ ~  
To say that Legolas's actions surprised me was an understatement. To be honest, they flat out _astonished_ me.

After all, Legolas and I were different, separate. We had barely gotten used to casual contact, much less the intimacy of close friends. And yet he had still seen past my deception, found the right words, and then had comforted me, instead of keeping his distance as most Elves would when confronted with over-emotional displays.

That, of course, only made me ever more grateful.

When we entered Haldir's room, I saw that Eldarion and Aragorn were already there. Eldarion was speaking to Haldir rapidly, as if trying to spill out every single thing that had happened since he had left Lothlórien. Aragorn simply looked relieved that Haldir had survived – and amused by Eldarion's actions as he continued to speak as quickly as he possibly could.

Haldir looked up then, and he smiled. "~Legolas, Estel – greetings.~"

Legolas smiled back and, stepping forward, made the traditional gesture of greeting while I looked round the room.

"~Where's my sister?~"

Eldarion shrugged. "~Coming. Eventually.~" Then he returned to talking.

I moved to stand beside Aragorn. "~How is he?~" I asked in a low voice, nodding at Haldir.

"~Better. Much better. He'll survive – thanks to you,~" Aragorn added seriously, clasping my hand with a smile.

"~I did what I could.~"

"~Which was a great deal more of a gift than you think,~" Legolas said from behind me, smiling down at me.

For some reason, his smile made me blush and look down.

"~Yes, I know I'm late, brother,~" my sister said tartly as she entered the room. "~So be quiet, will you?~"

"~The both of you, calm down,~" my mother ordered as she followed.

"~Yes, Mother,~" they said simultaneously. Then of course, they made faces at each other with subtle sideways glances.

Legolas chuckled under his breath, putting his hand on my shoulder. "~Siblings,~" he said wistfully with an amused shake of his head.

I looked at him. "~Do you have any?~"

"~No.~"

I was about to ask more when Haldir suddenly sat bolt upright, startling us all and causing no small measure of concern to all of us. His eyes, larger than I'd ever seen on an Elf, were focused on my sister.

"She's your _mother_?" he spluttered, so astonished that he spoke in the common language. "And that's your _sister_? But – But how is that possible? I thought you said your mother was dead!"

_Oh, Valar help us_, I prayed. _We are in so much trouble. . . _


	41. Chapter 40

**_Chapter Forty_**

~ _Haldir_~  
I was more confused than I had ever been in my entire lifetime. There stood Tinúviel, who had said she was Elessar's daughter and also Eldarion's sister – and yet I knew for certain that Eldarion was _not_ Elessar's son . . . wasn't he? Because then Estel would be Elessar's daughter, and I knew too that Elessar and Arwen Undómiel were not yet even married, much less parents of not one but _three_ children. Besides, Eldarion and Tinúviel had called the other woman "Mother" and I knew that Elessar still bore the pendant – and love – of the Evenstar.

After a long moment, the woman stirred. "~Haldir, Marchwarden of Lothlórien,~" she said in a calm voice, startling me with her ability to speak our tongue so fluently. "~I understand your confusion. When my children speak of Lord Elessar, their father, they do not speak of the Elessar you know – the one we also know as Aragorn.~"

However, if anything, that only confused me more.

"~How is that possible? There is no other Lord Elessar,~" I protested.

The woman sighed. "~I see that you do not yet know the truth,~" she said sadly. "~But I think now is the time to rectify that. Estel, please close the door.~"

When the door was shut and locked securely, and everyone had taken a seat, and I was positioned comfortably enough to listen for what was going to be a long story, the woman began.

"~My name is Kiria, and I am a Lady of Rohan; more importantly, a descendant of the royal line of Rohan. I see your confusion in that, for I look like all of my people – more Elvish than mortal. It all goes back to . . . ~"

We could have been there for days, and I would not have noticed. I was so fascinated and repulsed and amazed by her story that I could have sat still for winter after winter and never notice the passage of time or the needs of my body.

Finally, at the conclusion of her tale, I understood everything.

I sighed. "~My apologies, then, for my outburst,~" I tried to tell her.

Lady Kiria waved her hand. "~Do not; you had no idea of the truth and were understandably confused, as all others have been.~"

I eyed Legolas and Aragorn. "~You know?~"

Aragorn met my eyes squarely as Legolas nodded once. "~Yes, but the both of us were sworn to secrecy by Lord Elrond,~" Aragorn said. "~He did not want harm to befall any of them because of who they were.~"

"~I understand. And I swear to keep this silent, lest I am given permission or I speak among you once more,~" I vowed.

I could see how everyone relaxed when I said my vow. But I meant it. I would not harm to befall any of them either – Eldarion, who had become my brother in the long days of us being wardens together; Estel, who had amused me and now seemed to be my little sister; and now Tinúviel, who had enchanted me by means that were far from mortal.

I directed my words to her next. "~I apologize to you as well, my lady; I knew not of what I spoke when I spoke,~" I said.

Tinúviel smiled affectionately. "~It is all right; others have made the same mistake as you.~"

Eldarion eyed me. "~Why, what did you do?~" he asked curiously.

I shifted slightly, and did not reply. So Eldarion looked to his sister, one eyebrow raised in a silent question that she understood – and answered.

"~He thought I was Lúthien Tinúviel,~" she said simply.

Estel laughed merrily from where she sat next to Legolas. "~And I suppose you thought you were Beren Barahirion?~" she teased.

I flushed furiously and did not answer.

"~Ah, tease him not,~" Legolas chided gently, standing. "~Let him rest. He deserves it.~"

"~And needs it,~" Aragorn put in.

But as they all filed out, I found myself a tad too excited to sleep. So. Tinúviel was not Arwen Undómiel or Lúthien Tinúviel – but in my mind, she was a great deal more than both of them. Her bloodline, after all, was a great deal more diverse, gifting her with the blood of Kings of both Men and Elves. And on top of that, she was far more beautiful and more interesting.

Then I reprimanded myself for that thought. That thought was the kind of a love-struck fool, which I would never be.

~ _Estel_ ~  
I found it highly amusing that Haldir had, for once, acted like a normal person and had mistaken my sister for Lúthien Tinúviel (as many others had before him).

But then again, it wasn't so surprising. After all, my sister had taken after her namesake just as much as Eldarion had taken after his. She was as much the epitome of the Elven beauty of the Elder Days as he was the embodiment of the Men of the Houses of the Edain of the same Elder Days.

That set me wondering – who did I represent? I wasn't the beauty my sister was or the warrior my brother was. I was something . . . else.

Later that night, I went in search of my mother. The question burned in me like nothing else ever had, and I didn't want to ask anyone else. Even my newfound closeness with Legolas wasn't enough to warrant me asking him something so . . . personal.

My mother listened calmly while I spoke, and then nodded once.

"I see. . . Estel, child, you know what your name means?"

It was more a statement than a question; I was almost as fluent in Elvish as she was, and I knew the meaning of my name as well as I knew the origins of it.

"It means 'hope'," my mother answered anyways. "Your brother – Eldarion – he is the scion of the Edain. He is more a Man than anything else, despite the fact that he bears an Elven name, speaks Elvish, and has Elvish blood. He represents the good in mortals, the good that we have seen since the Elder Days – and that has grown faint in these troubled times. He restores faith that Men still are capable of doing the right thing, of setting the score right, of bringing about balance as the Eldar leave our shores and the Dominion of Men settles in.

"And your sister – Tinúviel – her name means 'nightingale'. You know just as well as I do that Arwen Undómiel was the Evenstar of the Elves. Well, she is _our_ Evenstar, perhaps the last of those with human blood to carry the beauty of the immortals. She represents our past, the past we are beginning to lose our hold on. And as long as her voice reminds of us what we have lost, we remember who we are and what we are – we remember our heritage, good and ill, because of our nightingale."

"Then what I am? Just another child?"

My mother laughed. "Oh, my child, did you fail to understand?" She grew quiet before taking my hands in hers and gazing solemnly into my eyes.

"Estel," she murmured. "Hope. Your brother represents the hope of the future; your sister, the memory of the past. But you, Estel – you are neither. You are the _present_, the truth that this time of all times our races have lived in harmony and peace and love, and are now coming together to fight for one last time side by side, as friends."

Then I found that I couldn't speak. Emotion choked me, and for the first time in many years, I clung to my mother like a child scared by a thunderstorm and wouldn't let go.

And she – she just hugged me like any mother would.

The only difference?

She didn't let go either.

~ _Tinúviel_ ~  
I stopped, startled, and for a moment I thought was I having a weirdest dream I ever had had.

A cloaked and hooded person, shadowed in darkness, stood on the ramparts, head uplifted and eyes to the stars. He was tall, taller than anyone I'd ever met, including my own brother. He was fully dressed and armored, but surprisingly he had no weapons on his person – no sword, no dagger, not even a bow and quiver.

And for a moment he scared the brains out of me.

But then he turned, and his hood fell back, and my fear left me.

"~Haldir,~" I greeted cautiously.

"~Tinúviel,~" he said gravely.

I took a cautious step closer, surprised at why he of all people was up this late when he should be resting. "~Are you all right? Can you not sleep?~"

He shook his head. "~I am an Elf, remember? We are the children of the stars.~"

I crossed my arms. "~Perhaps. But you are also children who can sleep, and you must if you plan to heal and recover. Unless you wish the leave Middle-earth to join the Halls of Mandos rather than Valinor.~"

He ignored my words, turning back to the stars. "~Look. Eärendil rises, the Simaril shining on Vingilot.~" He even gestured, and sure enough a brilliant star – brighter than all the rest, bright enough to put even the moon himself to shame – travelled across the inky backdrop of the heavens.

I moved to stand by his side. "~I know the story,~" I said quietly.

"~You should,~" he said approvingly. "~Especially if you are one of his descendents. Which is more than many of the Dúnedain can say.~"

"~You cannot blame them,~" I countered. "~The Dúnedain have faced many hardships. They have not the time to tell stories around a campfire in luxury when they ought to be training for war.~"

Haldir turned to me, his blue eyes sharp. "~I do not blame them. I merely point out their flaws.~"

"~Well, unless you have a plan to fix those flaws, any comments will be considered criticism,~" I said tartly. After all, I was descended from the Dúnedain as well as Eärendil; it was only right that I defend them.

I wasn't too surprised, though. The Elves of Lothlórien thought little of the Dúnedain; they still remembered what had befallen them when Isildur had betrayed them and allowed the One Ring to live instead of casting it into the fire of Mount Doom. To them, the Dúnedain were simply Men with Elvish blood that as the years passed waned ever more – and they were right, in some ways. The Dúnedain _were_ getting fewer and fewer, and their life span – once one that spanned nearly five centuries – was dwindling.

Haldir was silent for a long moment. Then, he said quietly, "~I mean you no offense, my lady. I know of your ties and your love for the Dúnedain.~"

"~Yes, you do,~" I agreed. "~But do you respect it?~"

I let him stew on that for a moment.

"~Good night, my lord,~" I said, turning away and dropping my arms. I had better things to do than try to right old wrongs in the minds of even older Elves. _We'll prove them wrong. Assuming they're still here to see it._

Suddenly a vice-like grip appeared on my upper arm, yanking me around.

I stumbled in surprise when I turned to see Haldir's wide eyes. He raised a shaking hand – but he stopped it, quivering, inches before my neck.

"~You bear the Evenstar,~" he said. His voice was remarkably calm.

I pulled my arm away. "~Yes. As my brother bears the Ring of Barahir and my sister bears the Elessar, the Evenstar is my responsibility.~"

Haldir closed his eyes and sighed, a long sigh of a last wish and a final death. Slowly, he composed his expression and straightened. It was like by sighing, he had released something inside of him, some emotion that had plagued him for a long time and that he was only just now getting rid of – or, perhaps, just learning to live with.

When he opened his eyes again, they were clear and gentle.

"~I think,~" he said slowly, "~that you are a great deal more than you seem. And I am honored by your acquaintance, my lady. Because it seems that I have forgotten that the race of Men are also Children of Ilúvatar.~"

He offered his arm, which I took. It a gentlemanly gesture, and I was grateful for his return to formality.

But when we touched, it was like an electric shock. Not a bad one, though; as it spread through my body, I got the strange sense of . . . connection, of familiarity, of being . . . home. To my surprise, I felt suddenly closer to this Elf who had been born, had lived, and had died thousands of generations before my time than I had felt even to Círdan and my own family. There was just something about him – something undeniably _right_ about him.

Now, more than ever, I got the feeling that my destiny was greater than I had thought. Haldir's too. For they had saved my life, and spared his.

_If the Valar didn't have a hand in our destiny before, they most certainly do now._


	42. Chapter 41

With this chapter, we finally enter the third and last part of this story – The Return of the King. Here, we will see the ultimate revelations that will amaze, shock, and change not only Estel's family, but also the rest of Middle-earth.

* * *

**_Chapter Forty-One_**

~ _Eldarion_ ~  
Murmurs of shock raced through Éomer, Théoden, Gimli, and Boromir when our horses waded through the water and muck and mud to find a giant tree waiting for us. A tree that suddenly straightened, walked over, and spoke in a booming, slow voice as though he was an ancient old man who could barely move.

Of course, it wasn't just any old tree.

It was Treebeard, Lord of the Ents and one of the oldest of his kind.

"Young master Gandalf," he rumbled. "I'm glad you've come. Wood and water, stock and stone I can master, but there's a _Wizard_ to manage here, locked in his tower."

I exchanged a glance with Legolas. _This_ was why we had not wanted Estel to come, even though she had wanted to. It had taken the interference of Mithrandir himself before she agreed not to come – even if her agreement had been sullen and reluctant.

Slowly, we urged our horses closer to the tower of Orthanc. But it was an uneasy advance; Saruman was dangerous and cunning, said to the be the most cunning of all the Istari.

Mithrandir voiced that concern. "Be careful; even in defeat Saruman is dangerous."

"Then let's just have his head and be done with it," Gimli suggested.

"No," Mithrandir said sharply. "No, we need him alive." He paused, as if considering how best to frame his reason, and returned his gaze to the top of the tower. "We need him to talk."

So _that_ was his reason. It made sense too; Saruman had been in contact with Sauron up until this "unfortunate" flooding of Orthanc and the slaughter of his army at Helm's Deep. Surely he knew something, anything that could help us in our struggle against Sauron.

Granted, of course, that we could pray the price he wanted.

Then a voice spoke, weary and old yet strong and full of dreadful knowledge. "You have fought many wars and slain many men Théoden King," it said as the speaker appeared on the top of the tower, "and made peace afterwards." Saruman leaned heavily on his staff, appearing to all the world exhausted and old. "Can we not take council together, as we once did, my old friend? Can we not have peace, you and I?"

Saruman's voice was enchanting, and for the smallest second I fell under his power. But then the Ring of Barahir burned on my finger as if I'd plunged my hand into boiling lava – and I remembered Mithrandir's warning about Saruman.

Théoden was silent for a while, and I feared he had fallen as I had when he said slowly, "We shall have peace."

Éomer stirred, his expression outraged, but Théoden spoke again.

"We shall have peace," he declared, "when you answer for the burning of the Westfold, and the children that lie dead there. We shall have peace, when the lives of the soldiers, whose bodies were hewn even as they lay dead against the gates of the Hornburg, are avenged! When you hang from a gibbet for the sport of your own crows . . . then, yes, we shall have peace."

His burning words removed any doubt that he had fallen under Saruman's spell.

And Saruman knew it.

His expression turned furious, and he spat, "Gibbets and crows? Dotard!"

Then he turned his attention upon Mithrandir. His voice turned almost . . . condescending now, but then again, Mithrandir was the least likely of all of us to fall under the spell of Saruman's voice. Especially now that _he_ was the White Wizard.

"What do you want, Gandalf Greyhame? Let me guess: the key of Orthanc, or perhaps the key of Barad-dûr itself, along with the crowns of the seven kings and the rods of the five wizards!"

Mithrandir was unruffled. "Your treachery has already cost many lives," he said instead. "Thousands more are now at risk – but you could save them, Saruman. You were deep in the Enemy's council."

Saruman's expression turned arrogant. "So you have come here for information," he said softly. I have some for you."

With that, he reached into his robes and produced . . . a Palantír. As he gazed at it, a light flared up in the middle, brilliant gold sullied by the inky murkiness of the outside. It was like a flame that was being shadowed and dimmed by a concealing, strangling hood of evil and darkness. And it spoke – no, whispered of things good and ill, small and large, present and future. It called to me, to my blood, to my heritage, to my desire to learn and it murmured of what I could learn if I would just put my hand on it and make myself its master.

In some ways, the whispers of the Palantír were at more once alluring and more repulsive than any charm wrought of Saruman.

And Saruman seemed ensnared so deeply within that trap that nothing would ever save him.

"Something festers in the heart of Middle-Earth. Something that you have failed to see. But the Great Eye has seen it. Even now he presses his advantage. His attack will come soon."

Saruman looked at us then, and his expression was a mix of insanity and triumph.

"You're all going to die," he said, his voice soft.

I shifted uneasily. I knew that in my past, obviously everyone had lived. Well . . . mostly everyone. But still, not enough of them had died to warrant the label "all". So either Saruman was completely deluded and power-crazy . . . or the survival of my family demanded a blood-price for balance – and everyone else would pay it.

Saruman wasn't finished, though. "But you know this, don't you, Gandalf," he purred self-satisfactorily. "You cannot think that this _Ranger_ will ever sit upon the throne of Gondor. This exile, crept from the shadows, will never be crowned king."

As if insulting Aragorn wasn't enough, Saruman then turned his leer onto Aragorn himself.

"Gandalf does not hesitate to sacrifice those closest to him, those he professes to . . . love," he warned, but the warning was marred by how smug his voice was.

He swung back to Mithrandir, almost cackling in the discomfort his words caused. "Tell me . . . what words of comfort did you give the Halfling before you sent him to his doom? "The path that you have set him on can only lead to death."

"I've heard enough," Gimli growled suddenly. "Shoot him. Stick an arrow in his gob."

Legolas, to my surprise, immediately reached for his quiver without question. Normally, he would have hesitated before accepting an order from a Dwarf – or before he killed someone, even a crazy old man.

Thankfully, Mithrandir stopped him. "No," he said quietly.

Then he raised his voice. "Come down Saruman, and your live will be spared."

"Save your pity and your mercy; I have no use for it!" he spat. Then he angled his staff and a roaring fireball formed and shot towards Mithrandir. It engulfed him and Shadowfax, but we were powerless to do anything; our own horses shied from the flames, and it took a bit to get them back under control.

By then, the flames had died out.

"Saruman," Mithrandir announced calmly as the flames dissipated, "your staff is broken."

The staff shattered in Saruman's hands, startling him so much that he dropped the useless remains.

And behind him, a hunched figure approached.

Théoden started and spoke at the same time that I recognized the Man. "Gríma," he called, "you need not follow him. You were not always as you are now. You were once a man of Rohan! Come down."

"A man of Rohan?" Saruman spat, as though Théoden had spoken to him and not to Gríma Wormtongue. "What is the house of Rohan but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek and their brats roll on the floor with the dogs? Victory at Helm's Deep does not belong to you, Théoden, horsemaster! You are a lesser son of greater sires."

The words seemed to wound Théoden physically, aging him as Saruman's magic had. But this time, with a great effort that to me showed his true kingship, he looked back up and said calmly, "Gríma, come down. Be free of him."

Once again, Saruman acted as though Théoden had spoken to him. "Free?" he laughed. "He will never be free."

But then Gríma murmured something, so softly even Legolas didn't hear it.

Whatever it was, it enraged Saruman as nothing else had. He whirled and ordered, "Get down, cur!" Then he slapped Gríma so hard that the Man fell back.

"Saruman, you were deep in the Enemy's council. Tell us what you know!" Mithrandir commanded.

"You withdraw your guard, and I will tell you where you doom will be decided. I will not be held prisoner here," he declared.

Light glinted off a bared blade, and without thinking, I seized an arrow and sent it flying into the heart of the bearer of the knife – Gríma Wormtongue, eyes full of rebellious murder.

I lowered the bow, full of rage that yet another life had been destroyed because of Saruman.

"Tell us what you know, Curumo!" I demanded, using his true name. "This is your last chance to redeem yourself, else you will be cast down and wander, incorporeal and naked and powerless, ever in between life and death, Mandos and Middle-earth."

Saruman had flinched at my voice, and then at my usage of his true Maia name, and then at my reminder of the fate he would suffer. But he quickly recovered.

"Name yourself, then, 'prophet'," he sneered. "You who dare to decree the destiny of a Maia!"

"I am not scared by a Maia, for the blood of one runs in my veins as it has since the time of the Elder Days," I answered. I lifted my hand and raised the Ring of Barahir high in the air, so Saruman could see for himself to whom he spoke. "For I am Eldarion, firstborn and only son of Lord Elessar of Gondor and Lady Kiria of Rohan, descendent of the unbroken line of Beren Barahirion and Lúthien Tinúviel!"

Now Saruman seemed momentarily silenced. I knew he understood what I had said; he knew Elvish just as well as Mithrandir, Aragorn, and Legolas did.

"Hah! So you are a scrawny brat who thinks himself heir to Gondor's throne," he scoffed.

"Unlike you," I answered, "I seek no honor but that which I have earned – not what I think I deserve. So answer me, Curumo, or resign yourself to the fate you know will befall you!"

"Here is my answer," he said softly.

Fireworks spat in front of my eyes, blinding me even though my eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Roars sounded in my ears, roars that were the terrible combination of tsunamis, hurricanes, tornados, and every other natural disaster on earth, roars that deafened me to everything else around me. A foul taste entered my mouth, so revolting that it was everything I could do not to vomit – and I was suddenly glad that I hadn't eaten anything before we set out on this trek. The most disgusting smell, acidic and deadly, invaded my mind with the power of poison gas, filling me with horror as I fought for air. Fiery pricks tormented my skin, making me feel like someone was stabbing me over and over, all over, with melting needles that bit my skin before melting on to it.

And then, as suddenly as it had started, it was over.

I opened my eyes slowly, just in time to see Mithrandir raise his hand from my forehead.

I stirred weakly, and Aragorn's voice sounded in my ear, concerned and commanding and urgent, as his arms tightened about me. "~Don't move, Eldarion! Rest. Try and recover until we can get back to Edoras.~"

I saw two more sights as well, one right after another.

Saruman, impaled on the spokes of a large wheel with two arrows in him. He was dead.

And Legolas, slowly raising his bow from where he had aimed it at the top of the Orthanc tower.

Then, finally, I sank into blissful unconsciousness.


	43. Chapter 42

**_Chapter Forty-Two_**

~ _Estel_~  
I sighed in annoyance as I surveyed the chaos, confusion, and downright bedlam that moving back from Helm's Deep had caused. I knew that Éowyn and my sister and mother would be facing similar annoyances, wherever they were; we had all split up the task to spare Éowyn the nightmare of doing it alone, after all.

Aragorn, Legolas, Éomer, Théoden, Gimli, Boromir, Eldarion, and Mithrandir had all set out not too long ago to Isengard, and now we waited for their return, passing the time by preparing for the festivities tonight.

I had wanted to come, but they had tried to stop me. It had only been after Mithrandir himself – the one who had always encouraged me with a gentle, amused smile on his face – had asked me to stay that I had consented. I had agreed only because I knew that he was not being overprotective as the others were; he genuinely feared for my safety.

With another sigh, I directed some of the servants to begin cleaning as I and the rest began shelving the supplies.

Carefully, I grabbed a casing and lifted it as high as I could get it; but even on my tiptoes, I wasn't tall enough to put it where it belonged. I was about to ask for someone's help when arms appeared around me and lifted the case for me.

I spun around, startled. "Legolas! You nearly gave me a heart attack!" I accused.

But for once, Legolas didn't respond to my teasing. His blue eyes were almost . . . distracted, actually.

I frowned. "~Legolas? What's wrong?~"

He merely looked at me, sorrow in his gaze. "~It's your brother.~"

After those three words registered, I daresay Legolas did have problems keeping up with me.

I ran straight past everyone, hitching up my skirts to run faster and causing some of the women to stare at my lack of dignified decorum, but I certainly didn't care. With every heartbeat more and more questions emerged, terrified questions – Was Eldarion all right? What had happened? Would he be all right? What had gone wrong? Was he going to die?

When I finally burst out into the courtyard, I saw my mother was already at Eldarion's side, frantically trading theories with Aragorn and Mithrandir as to what was wrong and what could be done.

Behind me, Legolas said something, but I didn't hear it – all of my focus was on my comatose brother.

Without thinking, I unclasped the Elessar from my neck and put my hands on my brother's neck. He was breathing, his heart rate was fine, everything looked fine – something was wrong internally. . .

Days could have passed, and I wouldn't have known. All I was aware of was the bright energy flowing from me, through me, to my brother.

And then my brother coughed violently and his blue eyes opened.

I flung my arms around him. "Thank the Valar!" I sobbed. I had been so afraid that he wouldn't wake up – that we would lose him – that the miracle I had achieved with Haldir would not be enough to save Eldarion.

He patted my back awkwardly. "~I'm fine now, Estel.~" Then he spotted how everyone else was eliciting relief and sighing, and he frowned. "~What's going on? Why is everyone hanging around me like I'm on my deathbed or something? Personal space over here, please.~"

~ _Legolas_ ~  
I helped Estel to her feet. She seemed weary, but not as much as she had been after doing . . . well, doing whatever she had done to Haldir.

That was good. She was expected to attend the festivities tonight, for one thing, along with her brother and sister and mother. And although she seemed to disdain the dressing up and the celebrations, I guessed that she wouldn't want to miss them all the same.

Estel turned to me. "~Thanks for getting me, Legolas. I owe you one.~"

I smiled. "~You owe me nothing,~" I corrected gently. "~It is your brother who owes you something.~"

"~Yes, well, he'll repay me during the celebrations tonight.~" Estel sounded like she was back to her normal, relaxed, cheerful state, and that made me smile all the more.

"~Are you ready for the celebrations tonight?~"

Estel made a face. "~Please don't remind me. I hate having people fiddle with my hair and clothes. I'm a girl, not a doll,~" she complained.

I laughed. "~See you tonight then, little doll.~"

She grabbed my hand. "~Wait.~"

I turned to her, confused by her action. We were back at the storage centers, where she had been when I had found her and where I had assumed she would continue working. "~What is it, Estel?~" I asked curiously.

"~Can you stay and help us put away all of this stuff?~"

I laughed at the request. "~Is this because you're not tall enough or just want company?~" I teased. Secretly, however, I found myself strangely pleased, even though I wasn't really sure why. I had spent months with her when we had travelled with the Fellowship, so why did I suddenly crave her company?

Estel stuck her tongue out. "~Just help!~"

"~Yes, my lady.~"

~ _Éomer_ ~  
When I went to find Lady Estel, I found out that knowing her real name only made the servants understand who I was looking for. It didn't really help me actually _find_ her, though. When I asked, the usual answer was that she had been there – only now, of course, she was helping out somewhere else around Edoras.

It made me wonder how many places she could visit in a day.

And how much stamina she had to have to help out in so many places.

Finally, I tracked her down to one of the storage rooms; one of the servants had mentioned seeing her there not five minutes ago helping pack away stuff and get ready for tonight's feast.

Thankfully, she was actually there.

And then I frowned.

It wasn't _her_ that caused me to frown, though. It was the company she was keeping that made me frown.

Legolas was with her, assisting her as they conversed rapidly in the language I assumed was Elvish. She seemed perfectly at ease and completely fluent, easily switching from her Elvish conversation with Legolas to give directions in the common tongue to servants.

It made me feel slightly . . . jealous.

If I wanted to speak privately, my best chance was to take the person into the most deserted place I could find, whisper in the ear, and hope no one else heard.

Estel and the others? All they had to do was speak in Elvish.

But my jealously was more than just about the language. It was also centered around the ease of her relationship with the Elf.

Elves and Men were as different as night and day. Compared to Legolas, Eldarion could be my twin brother. Eldarion was at least a Man. Legolas was an Elf. Our societies acted differently, had different traditions, and even conversed differently. And they were immortal while we were not – that was the biggest difference.

Yet Estel didn't seem bothered by that.

It was if . . . It was like if she ever decided she liked Legolas enough, she might actually allow him to court her.

He already was beginning to. I could see it in how his eyes strayed often to her when they were in the same room; how they spent so much time together; and how they got along so well. If Estel was a Man, I might have said they were brothers-in-arms.

But a relationship between them would never work.

Legolas would remain untouched by time, while she would fade and eventually die one day. A lifetime to her would be a blink of the eye for an immortal like him. That would build bitterness and jealously between them, as well as a longing for someone of their own kindred.

Hopefully, Estel would keep her eyes open for someone . . . better.

I cleared my throat and the Elf's head snapped up. His eyes narrowed momentarily before he said something to Estel and she turned.

"So, you finally came," she said in greeting.

"You're a hard person to find, my lady," I replied. "And when I think of all the places you've been, I can only wonder if you'd actually decide a ride was more relaxing than running around.

She laughed. "If that was an invitation, consider it accepted. I've been longing to get out and ride around for a bit."

To my surprise, the Elf merely shrugged at her words.

"There's nothing for you to worry about, Legolas, so don't nag," she said when she looked at him.

He frowned. "I wasn't about to say anything except to advise you to inform the Lady Kiria before she thinks you got kidnapped or something," he said quietly.

She sighed. "You're right." Estel looked at me. "I'll meet you in the stables later, all right?"

Only ten minutes into my wait, she appeared. She had somehow acquired her cloak and her bow and quiver within those ten minutes, which amazed me; she looked like she had strolled down here leisurely without a hint of exertion, but I knew it took longer than that, especially if she had stopped by her quarters during that time.

But when I mounted, I turned to find her frowning at her horse.

"What is it?"

"The horse."

"She's a gentle mare. She won't hurt you."

"No, it's not that." She blushed slightly. "I don't know how to mount a horse properly on my own," she admitted.

I laughed and swung down. "Is that your only problem? Here, let me show you."

Thankfully, she caught on easily. It only took me two demonstrations before she understood perfectly how it had to be done. And within two minutes, she managed to successfully get on her horse. I stood close by and had my hands out in case she slipped or something, of course, but other than that she did it on her own.

"Well done, my lady," I said, swinging back on to my own horse. "Now, do you know how to use the reins or must I teach you that as well?"

"I'll show you, I guess."

To my amazement, she picked up the reins and with a murmur of a musical word, the normally gentle mare slipped from a walk into a canter as easily as gliding and Estel skillfully guided her out of the barn by only the slightest of movements with the reins and a great deal more of the musical words.

When I finally caught up to her, she grinned. "I told you."

"No, you _showed_ me," I corrected. I gave her a sideways glance. "What were you saying to the horse earlier?"

"What do you mean?"

"What did you say to the horse to make her start off like that?"

She smiled. "Horses often respond very quickly to Elvish," she said simply. "The Elves still practice the habit that horses are cherished companions and precious partners, not simply beasts of burden. By learning their language, you learn their ways – and through learning their ways, you see the world as they do, including all of the world's creatures."

"So what did you say to her?"

"I simply told her that I intended to act as her partner and not as her master, and then I asked her to please go."

"That's . . . impressive," I said. "Can you teach me?"

"Elvish or horsemanship?" she asked, a mischievous glint in her grey-blue eyes.

"Um . . ."

She laughed. "I'm sorry; I couldn't resist teasing you," she apologized. "Do you really want to learn Elvish from me, though? I'm not even very good at it; you should ask Aragorn or Eldarion. They've been practicing for _years_, and they are excellent."

"You seem just as good," I observed. "You can hold your own with Legolas and Aragorn."

"Not really."

"Come on. At least the basic words, then, like 'go' and 'stop'."

She laughed again, but she did consent, and by the end of the ride, I at least knew how to tell my horse to go and stop and how to greet someone in Elvish and how to say farewell. More complicated phrases and sentences proved too difficult; I just couldn't pick up on the grammar and all the words I needed to know in one ride.

Finally, as she was soothing her horse in Elvish as I swung off, I said, as casually as I could, "You seem to be good friends with Legolas."

She looked at me, startled. "Why, yes. He has been a great friend to the Chieftain . . . and a good friend to my family."

"Forgive me; I don't mean to pry," I said hastily.

"It is all right. You are not the first to wonder at the friendship, and I doubt you will be the last."

When she swung her other leg over in preparation to dismount, I made to help. "Here – let me help you," I said, reaching for her waist.

She stopped me and leaped down nimbly. "I can get down on my own."

I stepped back, slightly hurt.

She saw my expression. Moving forward, she put a hand on my shoulder. "Éomer, it isn't you," she assured me. "It's just . . . I always thought that that would be something only my husband would do. That's all."

"I understand."

I didn't, but what else could I say? That _I_ wanted to be her husband?

"Now – I need to go get ready for the festival and help the others prepare, so farewell."

"~Farewell,~" I tried to say.

Estel smiled brilliantly. "Perfect."

It hadn't been, but her praise was enough to salvage some of my dignity for how horrible my attempt had sounded.


	44. Chapter 43

**_Chapter Forty-Three_**

~ _Legolas_ ~  
The expression on Estel's face was to die for; if I hadn't had better control, I would have burst out laughing and spat ale all over the table and anyone who was sitting at the table. Gimli was too inebriated to notice anything, but I could see how Éomer was trying to control his own smirk at her expression.

"What in the name of the Valar are you _doing_?" she demanded.

"~Calm down,~" I told her between sips. "~It's just a little drinking contest.~"

"A _what_?" Horror transformed her expression.

"A drinking contest," Éomer said calmly, fighting a smile at her horror. "What, do you want to join?"

I lowered my mug, startled by his suggestion, and Estel's horror took on a whole new level.

He laughed uneasily. "It was just a joke."

She looked at me. "~Is Gimli out of his mind?~" she hissed. "~Doesn't he know that the Eldar have stronger constitutions than Men and Dwarves alike?~"

"~Oh, I'm sure he knows,~" I said cheerfully, reaching for another mug. "~But he was the one who proposed the challenge, after all. I merely accepted it and am now doing my best not to fall over or pass out or spill the ale on myself.~"

She groaned. "~Males!~"

I shrugged, smiling ruefully, and downed another mug. Estel was right, though; I could easily endure enough to make a Man or a Dwarf ill, a throwback to my Elven heritage. And the fact that I had had nearly 3000 years of exposure and experience didn't hurt my chances either.

But despite her scolding, Estel stayed and watched as we both slogged our way through mug after mug of ale.

And her expression of concern was just about enough to cause a twinge of guilt within me, so after a couple more mugs I stopped looking at her.

I would be perfectly fine come morning. And if not . . . well, then it would be a good thing Elves recovered very quickly, rarely got sick, and usually didn't get hangovers. My pride would recover.

One day.

Gimli, though, might find his pride a little harder to recover. For example, him saying "Here, here. It's the dwarves that go swimming with little hairy women" didn't exactly endear him to Estel or Éomer, who were perfectly sober.

After that, I started looking at Estel again.

I didn't need to see Gimli, who was burping, had ale all down his beard, and had terribly crossed eyes.

Estel had changed out of her normal working outfit, back into the gown Lady Galadriel had given her in Lothlórien. The silver gown shimmered softly under the harsh lights, seeming at once more delicate and more beautiful than usual – and making Estel seem far more ethereal than usual. Her long dark brown hair spilled unbound down her back, free from its normal restraints, reaching past her waist.

All in all, although I suspected she didn't know it, she looked more like an Elf than ever.

And suddenly I found . . . that I could barely take my eyes off of her.

Inwardly, I wondered why. She was just a normal mortal – well, perhaps not _normal_ by all standards, but rarely did the kings of Men hold up against the kings of the Eldar. Her royal blood meant little to us . . . except for the part she inherited from Elros Tar-Minyatur.

Outwardly, though, I was beginning to suspect that I was past caring that she was just a "normal" mortal.

~ _Estel_ ~  
We were far into the ale contest when Legolas suddenly started examining his fingers. Gimli was busy trying to down another mug and hadn't noticed – but I was perfectly sober and worried about the both of them, so I did. And the fact that Legolas looked slightly worried didn't really help me either.

"Legolas?" I asked.

"I think I . . . feel something," he said slowly. "A slight tingling in my fingers." He paused and looked at me, his eyes grave. "I think it's affecting me."

_You think, idiot?_

That was the response I dearly _wanted_ to make, but I felt it would be inappropriate, so I held my tongue. Thankfully, I didn't have to hold it for long.

"What did I say?" Gimli blubbered drunkenly. "He can't hold his liquor!"

Gimli started laughing raucously, but moments later his eyes started crossing, his fingers started relaxing – and then he collapsed and fell backwards. His mug dripped ale all down the table, but of course no one really cared. Everyone was too busy laughing and celebrating on their own.

Legolas shrugged. "Game over," he said calmly.

Éomer crossed to my side as Legolas examined Gimli carefully. For a moment I ignored him, watching Legolas anxiously to see if he found anything wrong with Gimli. But after a moment, Legolas shrugged and I knew Gimli was fine.

Well, until he woke up with a hangover, that is.

"Will he be all right?" I asked.

"He'll be fine. He'll be back to his normal, cheery self in the morning – whenever he wakes up, that is," Legolas commented with a slight smile.

I sighed. "Well, at least his hangover won't be too bad. . . He didn't get very far. And you?"

He shrugged.

I felt my eyes narrow. "~Were your fingers even actually tingling?~"

"~No.~"

I sighed.

Éomer shifted beside me, obviously annoyed that we continued speaking in Elvish even though he didn't really understand it. It was bad manners, and his movement reminded me of that. But before I could apologize, he was already speaking.

"Now that I no longer have to judge this contest," he said, looking at me, "would you honor me with a dance?"

I blinked. "What?"

He laughed. "Come on, Estel. A dance won't kill you."

"But . . ."

Éomer held out his hand, grinning at my attempts at protest. "Estel, you've faced down Uruk-hai in battle, you've survived the Fangorn Forest, and you've lived through the surprise of reuniting with your family. I think you can also endure a single dance."

I shot a pleading glance at Legolas.

But the Elf's blue eyes were dancing, and he crossed his arms, a small smile on his lips.

And I knew then that he was just as amused at my attempts as Éomer had been, and that he wouldn't help me escape.

"~You'll pay for this,~" I hissed at him.

He spread his arms, as if to say, _Who, me? What did I do?_

Éomer took my hand. "You'll be fine," he said quietly, looking at me. "I promise."

Reluctantly, I let him lead me forward.

If I had looked back, I would have noticed how the smile on Legolas's face faded and how a shadow of sadness crossed it.

~ _Éomer_ ~  
Midway through the dance, I shook my head in amusement and exasperation at my partner. "Estel, your fears were for naught," I chided. "You dance wonderfully."

"Only because you're leading," she shot back. "I don't even really know what I'm doing!"

"Just relax," I advised.

I twirled her gently, and she went along with it after only a moment's hesitation. I couldn't help but admire her grace and beauty even this situation, where she was caught unprepared and yet seemed to flow so naturally through the stances. If I hadn't known better, I would have thought she really was an Elf instead of just a Ranger.

"You look beautiful."

She waved it off. "Only because my mother and sister dragged me to the mirror."

"You don't like dressing up?" I asked in surprise.

We separated momentarily, as the dance required, and then she put her hand back in mine. "Not really," she replied.

I studied her. Yet another difference.

She shifted. "What is it? Did I spill something on myself?"

"What? No, no! Just . . ." I shook my head, at a loss for words. "You are very different from any woman I've ever met, Estel, that's all. I guess you might say that . . . I'm trying to understand you."

"Who said I had to be understood?" she asked, her grey-blue eyes challenging me.

"Not _have_ to," I corrected. "I would like to, though."

"Why?"

"Well, when one comes along a puzzle, he'd like to understand it eventually. Natural curiosity of Men, you know," I added.

That wrought a smile out of her. "As a son of the royal house, surely you've met more complicated puzzles than me," she remarked.

"Not really."

"How is that so?"

"I'm not sure," I admitted shyly. I put a hand on her waist, drawing her closer and looking deep into her grey-blue eyes. "I guess it's because . . . I never really found someone I wanted to really figure out before . . . before you."

She hesitated, her hand faltering in mine. "What are you talking about?"

By then, of course, the dance ended, but I still held her hand. "Estel . . . I . . . I think you're smart enough to know what I'm talking about."

Estel looked down momentarily. It was only with a gentle shake of her head that she looked back up. "Éomer, listen to me," she said. "We've only known each other for . . . less than a week. Give it some time. You might change your mind. The night is still young – for both of us."

"But not the heart," I countered, holding her hands tighter.

She backed away. "Give me some time, Éomer. I can't deal with this now. Please. I still barely know you."

I dropped her hand, slowly and reluctantly. "I won't change my mind, Estel."

"Éomer . . ."

"Estel!"

We both looked up to see Legolas emerge from the crowd, a large smile on his face.

"What is it?" Estel asked.

Legolas moved to her side, eyes alit with excitement. "Merry and Pippin are doing a jig; come and see," he urged.

Estel laughed as he took her hand. "All right, all right. I'm coming."

"Wait." I gripped her shoulder. "Estel . . . Think about it. Please. Just at least think about it."

She stared at me, her grey-blue eyes as uncertain as I'd ever seen them. She looked definitely mortal now, with none of the otherworldliness of her Elvish blood. But it didn't dim her beauty a single whit – well, not to me.

"Estel."

"I will," she said lowly.


	45. Chapter 44

Oh, yeah. Before anyone gets confused, Boromir is present during the festivities mentioned in the last chapter, but as he doesn't really play a part, he isn't shown. Haldir was also there too, as he's still recovering from Helm's Deep.

* * *

**_Chapter Forty-Four_**

(everything is spoken in Elvish)

~ _Tinúviel_~  
I hurried down the corridors, drawing my cloak around me for warmth. My mother had sent me to check on Haldir before I went to sleep, and to find Estel if I could. We were sure Estel was fine, though; the last we had seen her, she had been with Legolas and we knew he would keep her safe. It was Haldir we were mainly concerned about, for I had found his room empty and his gear gone.

Sure enough, the side door through the kitchens was open. I passed through them and went through the door just in time to see Haldir pull up his hood.

Leaning against the door and crossing my arms, I asked, "Leaving so soon?"

Haldir whirled around, and for a second I saw his hand go to his sword before he relaxed. "Tinúviel," he greeted.

I straightened and walked towards him. "Who else?"

I had taken over ensuring that Haldir's wounds healed correctly, for Aragorn and everyone else who specialized in healing were needed for the more serious victims. Through the ride back to Edoras, we had grown . . . I could say close. I wish I could say close.

In any case, I enjoyed his company.

He was polite, friendly, and intelligent, able to challenge my point of view as well as talk about things I had never heard of before. And he treated me like a real lady, something I appreciated; in that way, I was unlike my sister, Estel, who preferred to be treated like any normal Man, even though she disdained fighting. Of course, that could be because I had grown up being treated like a real lady, whereas my sister had been so young when everything had changed.

Or it could just be because my sister was stubborn, independent, and a rebel.

"Are you leaving now?"

"Yes." Haldir looked away. "I have lingered far too long here; now I must return to my own people."

"I know," I said quietly. "They will need you when they make the journey to the Grey Havens."

His eyes flickered back to me. "You know?"

"I've always known." I sighed. "There were no Elves where I grew up, remember?"

Haldir was silent for a while at my words. "I wish it hadn't been that way for you," he said softly. "You would have been cherished greatly among your own people had things turned out properly. And cherished by my own."

I uncrossed my arms. "Oh, well. No sense in dwelling the past." I turned to face him completely. "I wish you well in Valinor, Haldir."

He searched my eyes. "I will miss your company there."

"I am sure your friends can fill that."

He shook his head swiftly, stepping forward almost hesitantly. "No – you do not understand, Tinúviel."

"What do you mean?"

Haldir faltered. "I . . ."

I grinned at him. "What, have you lost your tongue?" I teased.

"That's not it," he murmured.

"Then what is?"

He didn't answer, seeming to retreat deep inside of himself and suddenly be as distant as he was on the day we had first met. Well, the second time we had met. The first time didn't really count, as he had thought I was Lúthien Tinúviel.

I sighed and reached up to put a hand on his shoulder. "I wish you luck on your way to the Undying Lands. Maybe one day, at the end of the world . . . the prophecy will come true, and our races will unite from the Halls of Mandos. But until then . . . farewell, Haldir. I and the rest of my house will never forget you."

I was just turning around to go back inside when his hand suddenly appeared on my shoulder.

"Wait."

And then he was pulling me around, and my hands came up against his chest, and he was – he was kissing me.

I didn't even manage to muster the faintest protest.

I melted into the kiss, finding in my first kiss everything the poets and the storytellers and the musicians had foretold about . . . about true love. It was like . . . like an explosion of fire and sparks that at once soothed you like water in a desert and burned in you with an everlasting flame. It was like everything in the entire universe had stopped – the moon, the sun, the stars, everything. And it was . . . perfect, like everything had been grey and dull before and was only now emerging in crystal clear, flawless, glorious colors.

When he drew back, I shut my eyes. I didn't want to wake up from this dream.

"Tinúviel?" he asked uncertainly.

"Don't talk. I don't want to wake up from this."

~ _Haldir_ ~  
The kiss was perfect.

She hadn't expecting it, and in truth, neither had I, but still . . .

If there had been anything to make me feel like I was Beren Barahirion and she Lúthien Tinúviel, _this_ was it. Everything just felt so . . . perfect, so right. Like we were two halves who had been separated and were now just finding out how perfectly we were meant to be.

But when she shut her eyes, for a moment I feared that she hadn't wanted it – or was disgusted by it.

And then I realized the truth – she thought, she really actually thought, that she was dreaming.

I laughed and drew her closer. "Tinúviel, this isn't a dream, and you can open your eyes. I'm not going to disappear."

"How do I know?"

I brushed my fingers against her cheek. "Trust me."

Bit by bit, she opened her eyes and peeked at me. I smiled at her, and I saw her give a soft sigh of relief. Then she leaned against me, resting her head against my chest, and I tightened my embrace around her, never wanting to let her go.

"When?" she asked suddenly.

"When what?"

"When did you know?"

I hesitated. "I think . . . I think from perhaps the moment we met," I admitted honestly after a moment. "I felt . . . strange. And then . . . all this time afterwards . . . it just seemed to confirm what in my heart I guess I already had known."

She shook her head against my chest. "And all along I had convinced myself that you only saw me as a regular mortal."

I looked down at her, aghast. "How could I ever think of you as thus?" I demanded.

"Well . . . you're a full-blooded Elf . . . and I'm just a . . . a half-breed," she stuttered.

"Don't ever call yourself that."

"But – "

"Tinúviel." I took her face in my hands. "Tinúviel, listen to me. You will _never_ be a half-breed to me or a regular mortal. Never."

I held her tightly. Much as I loved her, we still had a major dilemma. Namely, the fact that I was to set sail for the Undying Lands very soon – and that much as I would deny it, Tinúviel would not be able sail with me. The Valar would still consider her a mortal, and mortals weren't allowed. I doubt that they would make the same exception for her as they had made for Tuor of Gondolin, and I didn't want to risk her life trying to find out.

But I wasn't about to let her go. I couldn't.

Lúthien Tinúviel had bewitched Beren, yes, but she had set her hand in his, chaining her to his sad fate.

_Now, maybe it is time for the circumstances to be switched._

Tinúviel had enchanted me this time, but there was no way she could set her hand in mine – not now. She could not choose to join herself to the immortal fate of the Eldar; she was not one of the Peredhel. It was a shame too. . .

"If you were one of the Peredhel, I would have begged you to choose to the fate of the Eldar and join us," I said without thinking.

Tinúviel raised her head to look at me. "I can't. And you must leave."

"Must?"

"The Eldar are already leaving the shores of Middle-earth; I know you know that. And you must leave with them. I cannot ask you remain behind and suffer."

"You can."

Her grey eyes flickered slightly, sadly. "If I do, then I fear you will suffer the same fate as Lúthien Tinúviel and Arwen Undómiel," she said miserably. "Only you cannot choose to join yourself to my fate. Always has it been that a daughter of the Eldar has enchanted a son of the Atani."

"History does not always have to repeat itself."

"No. But this it must."

She looked at me, her face calm, and I knew quite suddenly that she had already made her choice.

"Haldir . . . You know what my choice would be, if I could make it. But I cannot. I can't ask you to endure the fact of seeing me die."

Her voice broke at the end, and I saw how her grey eyes glistened with unshed tears. Of all times, she had never looked more fragile to me, even when I had judged her with a warrior's eye instead of that of a lover.

"Tinúviel . . ."

"Go, Haldir," she said softly.

Desperate, I reached for her, but she shied away as a mouse shies from a hunting hawk.

There was no enmity between us – just calm resignation. We hadn't lost each other; on the contrary, I doubted that we would ever forget each other. Ever.

How could I forget the only person who had ever won my heart – and a woman who embodied Lúthien Tinúviel herself, no less?

But while our races were both Children of Ilúvatar, so too did they stand apart.

We were star-crossed lovers, and without a miracle, that was all we would ever be. Our fate was perhaps even worse than that of all the others, for there was no hope of a change.

I would sail to the Undying Lands, heartbroken, weary, and filled with longing. My immortality would be measured in the tears I shed and etched into the pain of my heart. And Tinúviel – she would remain here, in Middle-earth and in darkness and in doubt, her heart gone and the light in her eyes forever quenched, as nightfall that comes without a star. And one day the long years of her life would be utterly spent and her youth would wither and she would then taste the bitterness of mortality, and when she died the last traces of the Eldar would leave, never to be found again and never to be remembered.

In other words, we would be the star-crossed lovers separated by more than class or race. We would be separated by death itself, our love but a faint reminder of the life we once had.

"Tinúviel . . ."

This time, when I said her name, probably for the last time, a tear broke loose, and the river flowed down her cheeks; but she made not a single sound. She knew how hard this was going to be and she was trying to hold on to her courage.

But how much courage can you have when you are saying farewell to the one you love . . . forever?

I reached for her, and this time she did not shy away but instead welcomed the embrace.

And then I kissed her one last time.

The kiss was bitter from the salty tears we both shed – but perhaps that was fitting, a fitting last parting to a bitter love whose fate rested in an utter sundering forever. But it was also sweet, a last vow of love that could not be said in this or any language in existence.

Bittersweet, then, the love of a mortal girl and an immortal Elf – and their parting.

I just had never expected that one day that word would describe my own parting from the one I loved.

* * *

So . . . yeah. I wasn't really subtle about this and I know I didn't spend a lot of time on it. But I intended their relationship to be pretty much exactly like that of Lúthien Tinúviel and Beren – one glance and _bang_! In love for life. After all, this story is mainly about Estel and what she chooses to do – not to dwell on her sister or brother. And the story was dragging on a bit anyways. So . . . my apologies if this seems a little rushed or anything.


	46. Chapter 45

**_Chapter Forty-Five_**

(everything is spoken in Elvish)

~ _Legolas_~  
"You seem . . . discomforted," I noted uneasily.

And sure enough, Estel did. As Children of the Sun, even with the blood of the Eldar in her veins, Estel still held true to sleeping at night. Therefore, it was to my great surprise that I found her sitting in one of the deserted hallways, tapping her feet on the floor with a distracted expression.

She jumped. "Legolas! I . . . I didn't hear you!"

"No, you didn't," I observed. "But you have to remember that I'm not one of your kindred."

Estel sighed. "In any case, I'm not the only one out," she said. "My sister is also out."

"Why?" I asked curiously, moving to her side.

"She went looking for Haldir."

I frowned. Something about the way she had said that . . . her tone, perhaps . . . something told me that there was more to what she had said than what she had said. "Indeed?"

"He should have left by now," she murmured. "Soon the ships leave the Grey Havens."

"Ah."

I felt a twinge of unease myself. One, for the fact that she knew about that. And two, for the fact that I had not predicted that she would know it, for obviously there were no Elves in the future she came from. But Estel seemed to fit in so well that sometimes I forgot that she didn't really belong here; to her, this was a tale from a long ago in her past, to be told by scholars or by parents to little children.

Estel turned her grey-blue eyes on me. "Did you think we didn't know?"

There was no reply to that, so I decided to change tack – and subject.

"Why did Tinúviel seek out Haldir?"

She shrugged. "Because my mother wished to make sure Haldir was ready to leave us," she answered a little too casually.

I looked at her through narrowed eyes. "Indeed."

"You don't believe me?"

"Oh, I believe you. I just also believe that you are not telling me the full truth," I said calmly, looking straight into her eyes.

"Why would I do that?" she asked innocently.

I sighed at her attempt to deflect the question. "Estel . . . If you have a secret and you do not wish to tell me, it would be better for the both of us if you simply told me that."

"If it were _my_ secret," she replied, "I would tell you."

I frowned at her choice of words. _If it were _my_ secret, I would tell you._ That made no sense, unless –

"Is there something wrong with Tinúviel?"

She hesitated.

And then there was the sound of a slammed door and pattering feet, and I looked up.

Estel's eyes grew wide and she shot to her feet. "Oh, no!" she breathed. She looked at me. "Legolas, get back and hide in the shadows. Quickly! And whatever you do, don't make a sound or talk to reveal yourself – please!"

"What is going on?" I demanded, my eyes flickering between the increasing sound of footsteps and Estel.

"Just do it, please," she pleaded.

With a displeased frown, I backed into the shadows, concealing myself as any Elf knew how. But as I did so, I swore silently that if anything tried to hurt Estel, I'd leave the shadows at once.

Then Tinúviel appeared.

She looked . . . deadened. That was the only way I had described it. As if she'd seen the end of the world and had lost everyone she cared about and no longer really cared about trying to find a way to stop it. It gave her stunning beauty an almost . . . haunted edge, as if she'd looked into the Eye of Sauron itself.

Her sister looked up and froze. "Estel?" she whispered.

Estel hurried forward. "By the Valar . . . Tinúviel, what _happened_?"

I was more grateful now than ever that they spoke in Elvish; if they had speaking in the common tongue, I would have had to risk revealing myself to try and hear what they were saying, they spoke so quietly. But I knew my birth language like the back of my hand – I could have been blindfolded and paralyzed and only hear a whisper and understand exactly what the words were.

Tinúviel sat slowly where Estel had. "Everything," she whispered.

Estel sat beside her, her young face worried. "Tinúviel, what went wrong? Are you hurt? Did he . . . Did Haldir . . ."

_So they are talking about Haldir. But why? What . . ._

A new, sneaking suspicion crept into my mind. And it certainly did not bode well – for either involved.

"No. He . . . He said he never wanted to let me go."

The faintest trace of happiness made her lips curve up in the smallest smile I had ever seen – and the saddest. Her happiness was fainter than the light given by the sliver of the moon before the new phase; her sadness, greater than the blazing force of the sun during the summer equinox.

Something had happened, to change Tinúviel this way. And it hadn't been a small thing.

And then the words Tinúviel had said registered.

"So where is he?"

"No, Estel, I . . . I made him go."

Estel blinked. "What?" she exclaimed. "But – "

"I know what I said!" Tinúviel's face crumpled. "But I couldn't . . . I couldn't ask him to stay . . . I couldn't do that to him."

Then Tinúviel put her hands in her face and burst into tears. Sobs wrenched out of her like someone had ripped her heart away from her – and whoever held her heart. They shook her entire, delicate body as if she were a wave in a giant storm. All of her beauty and elegance and control faded now, leaving a normal person who grieved as anyone else did . . . when they'd lost someone they . . . loved.

Estel consoled her sister as best she could, but I knew it wasn't enough. Only time could heal this wound – but only just.

And time it did take before Tinúviel's tears stopped.

"Maybe he'll return for you," Estel suggested once her sister's tears had dried.

Tinúviel shook her head once, wiping away the traces of her tears with a single swipe. Her sadness remained, but now it was dampened somewhat, as if she carried it within her instead of letting it drag her down.

"He won't," she said softly. "He knows it can't be between us. It won't happen. It _can't_ happen. I'm just a mortal and he – "

" – is the one who loves you," Estel interrupted.

For a moment, silence reigned.

And then Estel sighed. "But I understand why you did it."

Tinúviel shook her head slowly as she stood, a little sad smile on her lips. "No, you don't, little sister. Not until you've felt it," she stated quietly.

Estel didn't contradict her, and Tinúviel swept off into the night.

And I stared after her, amazed.

~ _Estel_ ~  
After a long moment, I raised my head. "So now you know," I said softly.

Legolas appeared silently in the shadows; if I hadn't seen him vanish into them, I would have never known he was there. With a silent frown, he sat down on the box beside me.

"Tinúviel . . . Does she . . . Does Haldir . . ."

"Yes," I answered soberly.

Legolas stared off into the distance, seemingly deep in thought. "So it happened. And here I thought it never could have come about. . ."

He trailed off again – but this time I got the funny feeling that he wasn't talking about Haldir and Tinúviel anymore.

Then his blue eyes snapped back to me. "But this isn't all that's troubling you, is it?"

I started to deny it, but then I stopped. Looking into Legolas's eyes, I knew I couldn't lie to him. I kind of owed it to him, after all he had done for me and my family.

I looked down. "No."

"What is it?" he prodded gently.

"Éomer," I said finally with a sigh. "It's Éomer."

I felt his surprise before I even looked up and saw it.

"Éomer?" he repeated, his astonishment clear in his tone. "Why, what has he done? Has he offended you or something?"

"No, no; he's been very polite and friendly," I assured him.

"Then what is it?"

I hesitated. "I'm not actually sure."

Legolas's frown deepened. "Was he saying something to you when I interrupted?" he asked shrewdly.

I blushed.

"I'll take that as a yes." He shifted. "What was he saying?"

"It's not what he said."

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Very well. What did he _imply_, then?"

I looked away. "I don't know. I'm so confused. . ."

And that pretty much summed it up. I really didn't know how to frame what Éomer had said to me – well, implied actually. I knew it, but part of me was so occupied doubting it or something that I couldn't put my finger on it or name it. It was frustrating, even more so as I got the feeling that my mind was acting this way as if it were trying to shield me. I didn't need to be shielded; I wasn't a child.

Legolas grasped my chin with gentle fingers and tilted it so that I felt his eyes. His blue eyes were warm with sympathy and concern as he stared at me.

"You know," he said quietly, "you can tell me anything."

"What if I don't know what to say?" I whispered. "What if I can't describe it?"

"Try," he urged.

"I can't."

He put his arms around me reassuringly, and I huddled against the warmth of his chest, grateful that at least I didn't have any confusing feelings about him. He was just Legolas, a family friend who loved to tease me incessantly.

"Don't worry about it," he told me. "I'm sure it'll work out on its own, whatever it is."

I rested my head against his chest. "I hope so."

He was silent for a moment. Then he looked down at me. "Are you tired?"

I blinked. "No. Why?"

He was already standing as I asked, holding out a hand to pull me up as well. "Then we're going outside."

"Outside?" I yanked my hand out of his. "Why?"

"Well, it's nighttime now," he stated matter-of-factly.

"And . . ."

"I've always found that the cold night air helps to clear one's head, don't you?" he threw over his shoulder.

I still hesitated, though. I might have not been sleepy, but did I want to freeze?

After a moment, I followed with a shrug, as he surely must have known I would. Thankfully, though, he didn't rub it in my face or tease me as he normally would have. He merely smiled at me and took my hand again as we walked to the terrace.


	47. Chapter 46

**_Chapter Forty-Six_**

~ _Aragorn_~  
When I stepped outside, for a moment I hung back in surprise.

Well, not really surprise.

I had known for a while that Legolas and Estel were growing closer, perhaps as close as Eldarion was growing to me. But that was perhaps to be expected; Legolas had a thing for taking to certain people and just . . . taking them under his wing. True, he tended to be cold and distant, but once he warmed, the flame of friendship burned forever – especially as Legolas was immortal.

And his promise to protect Estel in case I was otherwise distracted certainly didn't hurt either.

But it still was a shock to see them both standing there so close together.

They weren't talking; they were just standing there silently. Estel was looking up, I could see, but Legolas . . . he was looking across the plain.

Their friendship was strong, I knew. And it was only going to grow stronger with time.

But I also knew that Éomer had his eye on Estel; I had seen them dancing together, had seen them riding together, and I knew that he had been impressed by Estel and her accomplishments – her fluency in Elvish, her skills in the arts of war, but above all, the traits given to her by her Elvish blood: grace, elegance, beauty.

I hoped that the situation would not turn into conflict.

Éomer was sure to not think too highly of Estel's closeness with Legolas; he still distrusted Elves. And Legolas might not approve of how Éomer courted Estel; the Elven ways and the ways of Men were very different.

And poor Estel, caught in the middle.

Or, I reconsidered, remembering her temper, perhaps poor Legolas and poor Éomer. She was sure not to think well of them arguing over her, dignity or no.

When I joined them, Legolas spoke without looking at me.

"The stars are veiled," he said quietly. "Something stirs in the East. A sleepless malice."

He and I shared a troubled glance. We both knew what he meant, and he voiced it moments later.

"The Eye of the enemy is moving," he pronounced.

"But to where?" Estel asked quietly.

"That," I said, "is a good question, Estel." I shot her a glance. "One I would have thought you, of all people, would know the answer to."

Estel looked down. "~You will know the answer soon enough,~" was her only reply.

Legolas turned to her with a frown. "You know?"

"Yes," she breathed, staring past the both of us as though she was seeing the battle here and now.

We were silent for a moment as Legolas and I stared at her.

She ignored us, watching the distant horizon as Legolas had moments ago, her fingers fiddling with the Elessar she wore around her neck.

Once again, we had forgotten she was a Believer. Once again, we had forgotten her unique background. Once again, we had forgotten that to her this was all a tale – one she had memorized as a little girl. And then had been enslaved, beaten, and violated for.

"Where – " I began.

Then I stopped as a cold shudder crawled up my spine, as though ice had found its way into my shirt and was unnaturally crawling up my spine. It was like a strange cloud had passed over us, one that promised darkness and misery and destruction.

Legolas whirled around. "He is here!" he exclaimed.

Neither of us needed further clarification.

We ran as though wolves were chasing us, and within minutes, we were all bursting into where quarters where the dark feeling emanated.

To my horror, Pippin was rolling on the ground with the palantír.

Only he wasn't just rolling on the ground – he was contorting violently as though liquid fire was being poured into his veins. And the palantír – it was alight with a fiery light as though the Eye of Sauron was manifested through it and staring straight at Pippin.

Estel lunged forward with a strangled cry.

And then the palantír was no longer in Pippin's hands, and Pippin wasn't the only one writhing on the floor.

~ _Eldarion_ ~  
Screams shook me from my sleep, followed by a loud _bang_, like someone had slammed the doors to the chamber open.

"Whassamatter?" I asked groggily, opening one eye.

And then I sat up with a gasp.

Pippin was rolling on the ground in obvious agony, and Estel, Legolas, and Aragorn were in the doorway, faces aghast with horror and surprise and confusion. Mithrandir was also just stirring, awoken by Merry's yells.

Estel suddenly disappeared – and then the glowing palantír was in her hands.

She gasped as though someone had doused her with ice cold water; her eyes rolled back in her head and her knees buckled. She fell to the ground, writhing in agony as Pippin had, her fingers curled around the glowing orb as her arms locked as though she was fighting to keep it away from her.

I tore at my blankets, but they seemed to have tangled themselves about me to prevent from rising. I cursed, not caring who heard, and I fought.

Finally, they gave way.

But Legolas had already beaten me to the chase.

With a curse on his lips, his blue eyes blazing with an inner fire, he became a blur of Elven speed to Estel's side. But the moment he touched her, he yanked back with a cry of pain, as though something had shocked him.

I saw, but I was incapable to stopping. Estel was my sister – I _had_ to do something.

And the moment I touched her, I understood at once why Legolas had yanked back – and I kicked myself for being so stupid as to think I could do something.

When I touched her, a shock coursed through my entire body, and I was suddenly displaced from it and thrust into a swirling desert storm of sparks and sand and ash. The sparks burned me; the sand blinded me; the ash filled my mouth. I choked and batted helplessly at the sparks and swiped at my eyes, but there was nothing to be done.

And all the while, Sauron's awful laughter echoed in my mind and I had the worst feeling, as though he was shoving a white-hot poker through my mind.

_Little fool!_ he said. _You thought you could stop me? Witness my power!_

Images flashed through my head – my dying father; my burning house; Aragorn plummeting to his death; Boromir falling to his knees, arrows in him; my mother burning; my sister screaming in torture; my father, my father, my father dying and screaming and begging for help, blood pouring from him like sweat, his body broken and burned and beaten, his consciousness curled into a fetal ball battered from all sides –

"Eldarion!" came the roar.

With a start, I came to myself.

Aragorn's hand gripped my shoulder so tightly that I winced belatedly. My tongue felt like iron dusted with rust, dust, and fuzz, and I felt at once burning hot and icy cold – but I was free from Sauron's hold.

I sat up slowly, with Aragorn watching with me with a nervous, cautious eye.

The palantír lay under Mithrandir's cloak, and I realized that Aragorn had risked Sauron's wrath himself by jerking me away from it.

"Fool of a Took!" Mithrandir said furiously, passing us.

Merry was shaking Pippin, who seemed paralyzed or comatose; but in either case, he wasn't moving.

I blew a long breath. "What – happened?" I asked shakily.

Aragorn looked at me worriedly. "I'm not quite sure," he replied. "When you touched Estel, you started screaming immediately. I yanked you off and then you just . . . blacked out completely. Are you okay?"

I flexed my hands, arms, and legs slowly, making sure they still worked. Then I worked my jaw, wishing for a drink of water so I could get rid of the weird, metallic taste in my mouth.

"I think so," I said finally.

There was a cry of fright, and we all looked up. Pippin was awake now, and looking around wildly. Mithrandir loomed over him, holding one of his hands, obviously having done some sort of spell or something to revive the Hobbit.

"Look at me."

"Gandalf!" he breathed. "Forgive me!"

"Look at me," Mithrandir ordered. "What did you see?"

"A tree. . . There was a white tree in a courtyard of stone. . . It was dead. The city was burning."

"Minas Tirith?" Mithrandir muttered quietly, and Aragorn and I shared looks of alarm at the mention of the city. "Is that what you saw?"

"I saw . . . I saw Him! I could hear His voice in my head!" Pippin exclaimed in fear.

"And what did you tell Him?" Mithrandir shook Pippin, fury and fear mixing terribly on his face. "Speak!"

"He asked me my name. I didn't answer." Fear entered the Hobbit's face. "He hurt me!"

"What did you tell Him about Frodo and the Ring?"

Pippin didn't answer, his eyes wide with fright, while the rest of us waited with bated breath. Frodo and Sam – they were our only chance, our secret weapon, our last resort. If Sauron had gone through Pippin's mind and found out. . .

"Answer me!" Mithrandir commanded, shaking Pippin again.

"Nothing! I swear, I said nothing!"

I heard Aragorn breathe a long sigh of relief by my side as he took his hand off of my shoulder, relaxing to sit on the floor like me..

"Are you absolutely certain?" Mithrandir pressed.

"I said nothing! And he hurt me," Pippin added. "But I said _nothing_ – I'd swear it!"

Mithrandir examined Pippin's face for a moment before nodding shortly and rising. His eyes found me at once.

"Eldarion – did you see anything out of the ordinary?" he questioned.

I shook my head. "Nothing like what Pippin said," I answered. "I saw only images from . . . from my past. Not anything else. And I would know if I saw Minas Tirith."

"Are you – " Mithrandir started to press.

"Mithrandir, now is not the time for this!" came Legolas's voice.

I turned to him, as did everyone else, wondering at the fear in his normally calm voice – and then my heart stopped dead. Completely.

For cradled in Legolas's arms, as limp as a doll, eyes closed, was Estel.


	48. Chapter 47

**_Chapter Forty-Seven_**

~ _Estel_~  
When I took the palantír from Pippin, I wasn't thinking about the danger I was putting myself in or that there were other people around or that there was a very good reason as to why the Hobbit was twisting and writhing so wildly on the ground.

All I was thinking was that I had to do something.

And so I did.

It was like . . . indescribable agony. I was in more pain than I'd ever been, more pain than every single pain from all the years of my life combined and doubled, from the little pains of scabbing a knee to the bigger pains of childbirth. I felt like I was . . . dying.

Literally.

I was in a raging inferno of boiling lava and fire and pain, suspended in front of a giant blazing eye by the Palantír that was practically stuck to my hands.

The Eye focused on me . . . and then the pain, impossible as it had already been, tripled.

It demanded information, but I was too befuddled with pain to even comprehend, much less answer.

And the Eye grew angry.

The Eye's probe ripped through my mind like one pushes aside cobwebs – easily, swiftly, and painfully. All of my memories, my fears, my pains were at its disposal. It could do absolutely anything it wished to to me. _Anything_.

So I relived my life.

I relived learning of the deaths of my sister and mother, and then my father and brother.

I relived being enslaved.

I relived undergoing beatings.

I relived enduring violation.

The Eye laughed, awfully and coldly and evilly, as I screamed and writhed, trying to fight my way out.

But I was trapped, as securely as a fish in a net. I couldn't possibly escape.

And then the Eye went even farther.

_Little hope_, it crooned. _So you think Gondor can be saved. . . Hah! See the future, then, and know your doom!_

I was hurled into a sea of new images, images I didn't remember, images of . . . the future.

I saw Eldarion, felled by an overwhelming rank of archers.

I saw Tinúviel, killed by an Uruk-hai as the army swarmed all around her.

I saw my mother, carried off and burned by cackling mercenaries.

I saw Aragorn, falling under the weight of an enormous troll that swept him aside like a pebble.

I saw Gimli, stabbed by cackling goblins.

Countless images of people I knew, people I cared for swept through my mind – Lord Elrond, Arwen, Elrohir, Elladan, Glorfindel, Lady Galadriel, Lord Celeborn, Haldir, Boromir, King Théoden, Éomer, Éowyn. . .

Everyone around me was falling, and I couldn't lift a finger to stop it.

An image flashed at me, so quick I nearly missed it – my father, curled into a fetal ball, bloody, battered, beaten, nearly dead.

_I could save him_, the voice insisted.

No, I tried to say. He's already dead.

The voice was displeased.

Another image flashed: Legolas, his blonde hair sullied by blood and dirt, his face smeared with sweat and spit, his arms and legs bound, a flaming knife slicing through his skin slowly as he twisted and fought. Blood poured from his wounds and his expression contorted into the utmost agony; he practically begged for death.

But they didn't give it.

My heart stopped, and the voice noted it with glee.

_You could save him from that. You just have to talk. I could save him, protect you, let him remain whole for you. You just have to tell me. . ._

No, came my weak protest.

The Eye of Sauron flared, and I screamed.

_Fool! Then he will die! They will all die, and MINAS TIRITH WILL BURN AND ALL OF MIDDLE-EARTH WILL FALL – _

The voice cut off suddenly. A hand rested on my forehead; arms cradled me off of the ground; a heartbeat sounded near my ear.

Sound turned on abruptly.

" – coming around," someone was saying abruptly. "Valar, help us! Estel, oh my stars, Estel can you hear me? Estel, please!"

I wanted to talk, to respond, to say something to answer that pleading voice – but the darkness beckoned for a final rest, no pain, no fire, no Sauron, no nothing. . .

Then I heard something else, just as I started to slip away.

"~Estel, please, don't give in,~" someone whispered, heartbreak in the voice. "~Come back, Estel, please. It's not yet your time, Estel, come back.~"

And with a gasp, my eyes snapped open.

Everything was blurry at first, but I could make out outlines. And I knew exactly how I felt – exhausted, injured, vulnerable.

I blinked. And then colors and clarity returned.

Mithrandir lifted his hand from my forehead, his eyes grave.

Eldarion seized my hand. "Estel! Oh, thank the Valar – we thought we lost you!"

I searched the desperate faces for the one I sought, the one who had spoken. I felt my heart sink when I didn't see it. Surely Sauron hadn't acted that fast against him. . .

"Legolas?" I whispered.

The arms shifted. "~I'm here, little one,~" Legolas said softly, looking down at me.

For a moment, I stared at him. Then I flung my arms around him and buried my face in his chest, sobbing. "I thought – you were – dead!" I choked out.

I felt him start, but his arms closed reflexively around me, shielding and supporting me.

Voices clamored anxiously around us, but Legolas spoke calmly – in Elvish or in the common tongue, I didn't know – and slowly the commotion quieted. I heard the soft footsteps pass me by and felt the soft brushes of others bidding me farewell. And soon the room was empty.

I was still crying, though, the memories or visions or whatever they had been far too vivid to go away quickly.

Legolas held me tightly. "~Calm down, little one,~" he murmured over and over again. "~I'm here; I won't leave you, I promise.~"

Even with his musical, soothing voice soft in my ear, it still took a long time before I even started to calm down. But eventually even my sobs turned to hiccups and then to nothing.

I still clung frantically to him, though.

When all was silent for a few minutes, he shifted so that I could look up and asked quietly, "~What happened?~"

I trembled in his arms, grateful he had a secure hold on me. "~I was scared.~"

He brushed at my hair with a tender hand. "~Of what? Why did you think I was dead?~"

I shook my head mutely; I couldn't bring myself to speak the horrible words of what I had seen when I held the Palantír.

"~I was scared,~" was all I could say.

~ _Legolas_ ~  
I pulled her closer and felt my eyes narrow. _Sauron._ No doubt it had done something to Estel, something that had scared her so greatly she couldn't even talk about it.

And, apparently, something concerning me.

After a bit, I lifted her in my arms, and to my concern she didn't even react in the slightest. She should have started or said something, at the least. But instead she merely huddled closer to me, her face still buried against my chest.

I put her down on a pallet, wrapping the blanket around her. But that wasn't enough of a substitute, because she reached for me instantly afterwards.

So I sat on the pallet too and held her.

Finally, I asked, "~What did you see?~"

Her eyes unfocused a little. "~It was horrible,~" she whispered. "~I was burning, and everyone . . . everyone was dying. Aragorn, Gimli, Eldarion, Tinúviel, my mother, Lord Elrond, Arwen – everyone.~"

I stroked her hair, not pressuring her. Estel would have to take this at her own speed for now.

"~Then I . . . I saw my father.~" She swallowed hard. "~It . . . It tried to bargain with me for him.~"

I frowned. _Isn't he dead?_ But I couldn't say that; not now.

She saw my expression anyways. "~I know. So I refused. And he burned me again.~" She shivered, pulling the blanket more tightly around her.

"~And then I . . . I saw you,~" she said hoarsely. "~And you were . . . you wanted to die, but they kept you alive. And they were burning you and cutting you up and . . . I was so confused and I was so scared . . . And then I woke up and I couldn't find you and I thought that . . .~"

"~Hush,~" I told her gently.

I rocked her gently in my arms as she stopped talking. I knew all I needed to. No wonder she had been so scared and hysterical when she came to. No wonder.

She sniffled as she looked around. "~Where is everyone?~" she asked.

"~I sent them out,~" I replied. "~I thought it would be best if we sorted this out in private. We can't have all of court thinking I was killed and miraculously rose from the dead, now can we?"

Her smile was small, but it was all the reward I needed.

I released her gently, unwinding my arms from around her. "~Are you sure you're okay?~"

She nodded once. "~I think so. For now.~"

I studied her. Estel had never seemed so . . . fragile, so delicate, so . . . _vulnerable_. She looked like Sauron had ripped away every single defense she had and peered into the workings of her very being, her soul, her consciousness. As if he had dredged up every nightmare, every fear, every pain from within her and forced her to confront it.

I stroked her hair again. "~Sleep then, if you can,~" I said. "~You'll need it.~"

When I made to rise, she grabbed at my hand, her eyes anxious. "~Where are you going?~" she demanded fearfully.

I permitted myself a small smile. "~If I'm going to stay with you, I'm going to need another bed. I can't sleep on the floor.~"

She relaxed and released my hand.

I crouched by her side as she lay her head on the pillow. "~Sleep, Estel,~" I murmured. "~I won't leave you, I promise. And I won't let it hurt you again.~"

Estel stared at me, seriousness and sleepiness mixing oddly in her young, pale face. "~I know,~" she said softly.

And then she closed her eyes.

I studied her for another long moment. Then I shook my head and sighed. Just when I had thought I could make a clean break and let her find her happiness with Éomer, now _this_. Now there would be no salvation for me.

And the worst part?

I couldn't tell her.

I was caught, surer than if I'd been bound with magic. After seeing her like this, I yearned to take her in my arms and promise her everything my world had to offer and love her until the end of my days.

I could not, though.

I couldn't be so cruel to her.

But with the image of her sobbing and heartbroken and fragile stuck so firmly in my mind, I knew that I was lost to her – I would never stop loving her now. I had seen her at her best, and now I had seen her at her worst.

Except now I only loved her more for it.

I rose swiftly and crossed to the door. I wasn't going to leave her for long, but Eldarion would go crazy if I didn't assure him Estel was fine.

Thankfully, he had the sense to whisper instead of shout.

I told him everything, including the reasons for her hysterical outburst, and when I was finished, he had relaxed considerably.

"~Thank the Valar that she trusts you,~" he said. "~And thank you for caring for her.~"

_Hah! I care for her, all right; just not in the way you'd want_, I thought bitterly. But all I said was, "~I have to stay with her tonight. Can you keep everyone away until at least morning? By then, she should be fine.~"

"~Of course. Good night, Legolas.~"

I slipped back inside and shut the door. Good, she hadn't woken up. Quickly, I dragged a pallet over and sat on it as I looked at her.

Even in sleep, she looked worn out and distressed and vulnerable.

As I lay down, keeping a careful eye on her, the anger within me burned ever brighter at this new offense by Sauron – and I would not forgive him, ever, for hurting Estel.


	49. Chapter 48

**_Chapter Forty-Eight_**

~ _Legolas_~  
Mithrandir called a council early the next morning. When I walked into the throne room, I saw that I wasn't alone; Aragorn, Gimli, Éomer, King Théoden, Boromir, and Eldarion were already there. Mithrandir was also there, pacing rapidly back and forth, a thoughtful frown on his face as he spoke to the others.

I was late, I knew, but I had been loathe to leave Estel alone after what had happened.

I stood beside Aragorn as Mithrandir was saying, "There was no lie in Pippin's eyes. A fool . . . but an honest fool he remains." He paused. "He told Sauron nothing of Frodo and the Ring."

All around the room, there were signs of relief. That had been our greatest concern. Eldarion had touched Estel, not the palantír, so we weren't terribly worried about him revealing anything even though he had been in Sauron's grip for a moment. And Estel had obviously not seen anything; her outburst had proved what she had seen, and Sauron had only been trying to hurt her through images rather than demand her name or any information.

"We've been strangely fortunate," Mithrandir announced.

I stared at him. _Fortunate?_ Estel and Eldarion and Pippin – all injured by Sauron and that was _fortunate_?

"Pippin saw in the palantír a glimpse of the enemy's plan," he explained, perhaps catching my expression. "Sauron moves to strike the city of Minas Tirith."

I felt Aragorn stiffen. He was not yet King – but he still considered those of Gondor his people, and Minas Tirith had the most of them. Besides, were he ever to be crowned King, it would have to be at Minas Tirith. If he wasn't, it would signify him having a crown – but lacking a kingdom. And a King without a kingdom wasn't King for long.

"His defeat at Helm's Deep showed our enemy one thing: he knows the heir of Elendil has come forth," Mithrandir continued, nodding at Aragorn. "Men are not as weak as he supposed; there is courage still, strength enough perhaps to challenge him."

"And there is nothing more that he fears than a challenge," Eldarion murmured, pale blue eyes alit with excitement. He was ready to challenge Sauron; that was much I could easily see.

Mithrandir nodded. "He fears this more than anything." He turned his eyes back to us. "He will not risk the peoples of Middle-Earth uniting under one banner. He will raze Minas Tirith to the ground before he sees a King return to the throne of Men."

This time, both Eldarion and Aragorn stiffened. Even Eldarion, who did not belong, knew the significance of losing Minas Tirith to the Enemy.

Mithrandir turned at last to Théoden, who had not moved and whose expression had not changed during the course of the entire discussion.

"If the Beacons of Gondor are lit, Rohan must be ready for war," he warned.

Now, Théoden stirred. "Tell me . . . why should we ride to the aid of those who did not come to ours?" he asked quietly. "What do we owe Gondor?"

I frowned slightly. This was an attitude I had seen before in this King; namely, when he had been pressured to ride out and fight the Wildmen when they ravaged the Westfold. I was getting the feeling that Théoden, especially now with the death of his son, was beginning to feel helpless. Perhaps not the best time for it, of course – but also, perhaps the best time to find it.

Meanwhile, I guessed that Eldarion had had enough.

"Owe Gondor?" he repeated, staring at the King. "It is not a question of _owing_ anything, Théoden King! It is a matter that without Gondor, you will be attacked from all sides by Mordor! Is Rohan ready to fend off all the forces of Mordor?"

Théoden wasn't moved. "And what has Gondor done to protect us from attack?"

"You forget the Rangers of Ithilien," Boromir pointed out. "My brother is one of them. They still patrol the plains."

"The Rangers are not enough against the tide of Mordor," Théoden stated.

"No, we are not," Eldarion conceded. "Not alone. But the greatest fear of Sauron, Théoden King, is that we will unite! With the Rangers and the Men of Gondor and the Rohirrim of Rohan, Sauron will be hard-pressed to destroy us. Together, we are far stronger than he ever will be."

"I have lost many in the Battle for Helm's Deep," Théoden protested. "How can I ask my people to sacrifice even more for a people that did not aid them? And you, Ranger – will you answer the call of the beacons?"

Eldarion opened his mouth furiously, but I put a hand on his shoulder. "~Peace, Eldarion,~" I cautioned. "~You forget your place. Let your Chieftain speak for you now.~"

Aragorn stirred. "I will go," he announced quietly. "The Rangers of the North will go to Gondor's aid."

"No!" Mithrandir exclaimed, whirling around to face Aragorn.

Aragorn, Eldarion, and Boromir all stared at Mithrandir, aghast. I too was stunned; even Théoden seemed taken aback by the strength of Mithrandir's response.

"They must be warned!" Aragorn said, speaking for all three.

"They will be," Mithrandir said enigmatically.

He stepped closer to Aragorn, lowering his voice so much that I only heard because of my Elven senses. I was surprised that he did not speak in Elvish, but perhaps he did not wish to intentionally offend Théoden. Besides, Mithrandir rarely spoke Elvish to us anyways.

"You must come to Minas Tirith by another road," Mithrandir advised softly. "Follow the river and look to the black ships."

Aragorn frowned slightly, but after a bit he inclined his head in acquiescent.

Mithrandir appeared satisfied, for he turned back to the entire group and continued speaking. "Understand this: things are now in motion that cannot be undone," he announced gravely. "I ride for Minas Tirith." He paused and looked at Pippin. "And I won't be going alone."

~ _Éomer_ ~  
I found Estel sitting on the steps, hugging a blanket to her slender figure and gazing out over the fields with a distracted expression on her face.

"Éomer."

She spoke my name so calmly, so certainly, and so suddenly that I nearly jumped. Hiding my surprise at how she had known it was me, I sat down beside her.

Estel turned to me. "Sorry if I scared you."

I examined her appearance, dismayed at how much damage the palantír of Sauron had done to her. There were dark circles under her eyes, as though she had gotten no sleep. Her hair rested limply around her shoulders, as though there was no life in it anymore. And her eyes – her eyes looked simply _exhausted_. Not the exhausted of having done too much work and being overtired. No, this was the exhausted of those who have grown tired of living.

"How do you feel?" I asked quietly.

She sighed. "Why does everyone feel the need to ask that?" she asked, her tone frustrated.

I reached out and brushed back a strand of her hair. "Because we care. And because you look . . ."

"Terrible, I know," she finished with another sigh. She looked down. "Honestly, I don't feel much better than I look, I think. My mother nearly had a heart attack when she saw me this morning. She said I looked . . . almost dead."

Estel tried to say these words in a causal tone, but I could hear the confusion and the fear. She was afraid.

I took her hands, intending to offer comfort, and gasped.

Her hands were _ice cold_. They were freezing.

I looked at her, alarmed. "Estel, you're – you're so _cold_."

She yanked her hands away. "I've been sitting out here for a while; obviously my hands will feel cold to you."

I frowned at her. "The blanket?"

Estel groaned. "You are entirely too observant, Éomer Éomundion," she said in exasperation.

"Well?"

She looked down again. "I don't know why," she admitted finally. "Ever since I . . . well, I've just been cold. It seems nothing I can do is will warm me up. Everything just seems a lot colder now. I don't know why."

Concerned, I put my arms around her and pulled her close. It wasn't just her hands; her entire body was cold.

To my surprise, Estel didn't say anything. She merely leaned tiredly against me. She trusted me.

I was very surprised. She wasn't exactly the most lady-like of girls, but even so,

But perhaps Estel was past caring at the moment. We had already seen each other after battle – sweaty, exhausted, dirty. Being tired, then, was simple after that.

And then there was an enormous bang, and we both jumped.

A white horse leaped from the gates of Edoras with two riders on it.

Estel straightened. "Is that . . . Is that _Shadowfax_?"

I looked at her. "Of course."

She blinked once, and then her eyes narrowed. Her entire body tensed, and I got the feeling that she was doing some very quick thinking.

"What did you do in the council?"

For a moment, I was too startled to answer.

_How had she known?_

She had still been sleeping during the meeting, and she had been with no one since. There was now way she could have known about the meeting. No way at all. So how had she found out about the council?

I shrugged. "I didn't do anything. But," I added, "Gandalf has apparently decided to take matters into his own hands. He's riding to Minas Tirith with the Hobbit – Pippin."

Estel stared after them. "Events now in motion that cannot be undone. . ." Her voice was so low I barely caught it.

"What?"

She seemed to come back to reality with a jolt. "What? Oh – nothing. Don't mind me; my mind just isn't here right now. . ."

I looked down at her again. Her etherealness was gone, perhaps, but her beauty remained. Besides, I knew how she had lost it – she had sacrificed herself to save the Hobbit. A courageous act, and I could respect that.

I stood. "Why don't you come inside with me? There's a fire in my room; perhaps that can warm you."

Estel looked at the hand I offered, and then she smiled. "Why not?"

And she put her hand in mine, and allowed me to lead her there.


	50. Chapter 49

**_Chapter Forty-Nine  
_**(everything is spoken in Elvish)

~ _Aragorn_~  
I spent most of my time worrying about Gondor and Rohan and whether King Théoden would answer to the beacons of war – assuming, of course, that Mithrandir managed to get the Steward, Lord Denethor, to light them in the first place. That was another big worry, as the Stewards probably didn't believe I even existed anymore. All in all, I had a lot to think about and not very much to do to occupy my time and mind.

But even I wasn't so full of worries not to notice the strange and changed behavior of those around me.

Tinúviel, for example. She had conceded to sometimes raise her voice in song, as her ancestor Lúthien Tinúviel had in the Elder Days, to raise the men's spirits. Now, she was more distant and her grey eyes held a worried, distracted, faraway look and no more did we hear her songs in Meduseld no matter how much the men pleaded.

Eldarion was also changing. He did not train as hard and as constantly with the Rohirrim. He used to join in their drills and sparring and archery contests; but no more. He seemed to be constantly trying to work up the courage to do something – although what something, I did not know.

But most peculiar of all was the behavior between Éomer and Estel.

Estel was suddenly spending more and more time with Éomer – riding, eating, or even just talking. Well, not really suddenly. I was sure it had been gradual, but as I had only just noticed it, it did seem quite sudden. Now that she was fully recovered, she seemed to go out of her way to spend time with him. In fact, I often saw them laughing together no matter where they went.

That didn't mean she neglected the rest of us. She still spent time with her family. It was just that she seemed to spend _less_.

But of course, her mother wasn't saying anything.

One day while watching for the beacons, I became aware that Lady Kiria had joined me silently.

"Beacons of hope," she murmured quietly. "That is what you wait for. A symbol, a calling, a sign."

I turned to her. "Do you speak of yourself or me?"

"What does it matter?" she returned softly. "In a way, we are all seeking something, something we may not even be able to identify – but we seek it all the same." She shot me a gentle look. "Even you, Aragorn, seek something beyond your hold."

I accepted her comment without retort. "Then what are you seeking, my lady?"

Lady Kiria sighed, and her eyes drifted from the still unlit beacon to the plains. "Something every mother seeks for her child," she answered cryptically.

I followed her gaze.

Two riders were galloping across the plains, clearly racing in a test of speed and endurance. Even from this distance, it wasn't hard to make out Éomer, the sun glinting off of his horse's equipment and his armor, and Estel, her head thrown back in laughter and her long dark hair streaming out behind her.

I frowned and turned to her. "For Estel?"

"Why do you question it? She deserves it, and he makes her happy."

"It's not that."

She turned her blue eyes on me, eyes the exact same shade of blue as Éowyn's. "Then what bothers you about this?" she questioned.

I looked away, trying to gather my thoughts. Finally, I said hesitantly, "I have seen Estel grow . . . and change in the months she has spent with the Fellowship. And I have grown close to her in turn – we all have. And . . . And I fear that Éomer does not yet truly know Estel as well as . . . well, as well as . . ."

"You speak of Legolas," she said suddenly.

I blinked in surprise.

She smiled slightly at me. "I may not have raised my children for all this time or even been with the Fellowship – but I am their mother. I know them well enough. Estel especially."

"What – You know?" I sputtered incredulously. "And you're just . . . You're just letting it _go_?"

Lady Kiria's clasped hands tightened and a strained look entered her eyes, but other than that there was no reaction. "Estel is more than old enough to make her own choices as to where her heart lies," she said clearly. "I will not interfere. All of my children know more than enough to make their own decisions. Besides . . . the Elves leave soon for the Undying Lands; you of all people know that. I have already lost one child to that – must I lose another? Is it wrong to encourage something that will last?"

"Legolas would last."

"Yes, he would," she agreed. "But would Estel?"

That caught me. I found myself unable to respond, forcibly reminded of Lord Elrond's own arguments against my romance with Arwen.

She glanced at me and sighed. "If it reassures you, Aragorn, I will not interfere – on either side. But I must ask you to remember that Legolas is your friend and that Estel will die one day. Do you wish for a relationship that will end in death and eternal parting and misery?

"I know my answer."

And with that, Lady Kiria walked away.

~ _Eldarion_ ~  
"Estel, do you ever . . . do you ever think about Father?"

Estel stared at me with startled eyes. For a long time, she was so startled that she did not respond. Then she spluttered, "How could you even _ask_ such a thing?"

"Well?"

She looked away. "I think of him every day," she answered quietly, her eyes getting distant. "Whenever I see Mother . . . when I remember how things used to be . . . when I remember . . . our family."

"Do you think of him more . . . now?" I pressed cautiously.

Complicated emotions flitted across her face, emotions that I couldn't even begin to describe – and ones I certainly had _not_ expected to get in response. For a second, she looked like a person caught between two paths and was trying to decide where to go while some weird fortuneteller was preaching some random nonsense about the past to her. Bad description, but it was the best I could get.

"Yes," she said slowly.

I felt a surge of hope. So she was thinking about Father more as well . . . and for seemingly no reason at all. . . Yes, that was cause for hope. . .

"Why?"

Something in Estel closed. I wasn't sure why, but for some reason at my question, it was like the doors had closed. This was a subject from which I could expect no more answers from Estel.

"He was our father; it is natural that we think of him," she retorted. "What are you trying to get at, Eldarion?"

I hesitated. This was probably going to make me sound absolutely crazy. And yet it was the only – the _only_ – theory I had that made sense. Well, made sense to me, at least.

"I . . . I'm thinking a lot about him as well," I confessed finally. "I mean, I've always thought a lot about him and I've always done my best trying to be more like him; well, more like how I remember him. And I always tried to live up to him and everything he's done for me. And I know that sometimes I don't quite do it, but – "

"Eldarion."

"Sorry." I cleared my throat. "Anyways . . . I've noticed that ever since our episode with the . . . well, with the palantír . . . I've noticed that I'm thinking about him a lot more."

"So?"

"What do you mean, _so_?"

"Sauron's minions took Father away; wouldn't it be natural to think of him more? And to wonder what he would think if he saw you as you are now – how proud he would be of you?"

"Of us," I amended quietly.

"So . . . So where are you going with this?"

"I think there's another reason," I said slowly. "Something different from what you think. I mean, I thought it originally, and I think that that's part of it, but . . . I just feel like there's something else besides that."

"For?"

"For why we keep thinking about him more. I mean, Mother and Tinúviel aren't thinking more about him. Well, any more than usual."

"Tinúviel has other things on her mind besides Father," my sister said dismissively. "And how much more can Mother think about Father than she already does?"

"Look, would you just listen to me?"

"Fine, fine," she grumbled. "I'll bite. Why? What's your famous theory, Eldarion?"

"I think . . . it's because of Sauron."

~ _Estel_ ~  
I stared. "_Sauron_? What in the name of the Valar does he have to do with Father?"

"Hear me out," he pleaded.

It was a tad bit late for that. Well, more than a tad bit. _Sauron_ and my _father_? The _Dark Lord_, the one responsible for so much pain and death and destruction, and my father, a noble and loyal son of the one of the noblest lines of the oldest Kings of Elves and Men alike? Perhaps when Elves were mortal and Men were immortal would that even be perhaps considered – and maybe not even then, as technically we were Peredhel.

But that was besides the point.

My father would _never_ support the Dark Lord. Ever.

Without even realizing it, I found myself on my feet, glaring at my brother. "Father would _never_ side with Sauron, and if you think he would, then you did not know him!"

Eldarion sprang after me and seized my arm. "Estel – _listen to me_!" he ordered. "That – That is not – what I believe. At all."

I stared into his pale blue eyes, so similar to Aragorn's – so similar to my father's.

Finally, I nodded.

"Then what _do_ you mean?" I asked, sinking back into the chair. "What . . . What connection do you see there? For I see nothing."

"I told you."

"When?"

"We only started really thinking more about Father after we held the palantír," Eldarion said slowly. "Tinúviel and Mother did not – and they aren't. So . . ."

I raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. I could see the line – but . . . "So you think that just because we held the palantír of Sauron, our minds immediately jumped to Father?"

"Well . . . yes."

"You forgot about Pippin," I pointed out. "_He_ didn't think about people he had lost. He just saw Minas Tirith."

"And got burned."

"I did too," I replied. "And you didn't?"

He sighed. "No, I did. . . And for a moment there, I really thought I had a good solid theory."

I patted his shoulder. "It was a good idea. . . Only it kind of lacked foundation." A new idea struck me. If he had seen Father. . .

"What did you see, then?" I asked.

Eldarion's eyes grew flat and distant . . . and haunted. He shivered slightly, as though he was living out what he had seen right here and now. "I – I saw everyone dying," he said hoarsely. "Aragorn, Boromir, Mother, Tinúviel, and – it was horrible. But worst of all was . . ." He trailed off and swallowed hard, his hands clenching into tight fists over his thighs as anguish lit a desperate light in his eyes. "Father. He showed me Father. He showed Father bleeding and screaming and just . . . dying. I don't . . . I don't even know . . . I can't . . ."

"It wasn't your fault," I interrupted sternly.

"No."

"What do you mean, no?" I exclaimed incredulously. "You couldn't have stopped – "

"No, Estel, what I meant was that I didn't see it like it actually happened."

I blinked, rendered mute by his words.

"I saw it like . . . like it was real," he continued. "Like it was actually . . . happening . . . to him."

"Eldarion. . ."

My brother had been the closest to my father of all us. Seeing him dying anew and over and over again must have been absolutely the worst torture of all.

"It's all right." He looked round at me, seeming to return to the present. "What did you see?"

Suddenly my throat was dry and tight – almost so much so that it was difficult to think, much less talk and force out the words. But I managed to somehow anyways. Perhaps it was the need to spill everything out or perhaps it was just that I felt that I should repay his trust, but in either way I ended up telling him.

"Everyone dying," I concluded soberly. "And . . . he was using Minas Tirith and – "

He straightened abruptly. "Minas Tirith?" he exclaimed. "Are you sure?"

"I know the story just as well as you do, Eldarion," I reminded him tartly. "Perhaps even better than you."

"Sorry. Go on please."

"Well, he was . . . I think he was, at least . . . trying to use Minas Tirith and . . . and Father, for some strange reason, as bargaining chips."

Eldarion blinked. "Father's dead."

"I know. That's why Sauron moved on to Minas Tirith."

He nodded slowly. "I wish I had known earlier," he said with a sigh. "It would have helped persuade the King that Gondor really is in need of his aid against this army."

"You know he will ride eventually."

"Hopefully, more like. Gondor will definitely need it." He reached over and squeezed my hand. "Thanks for hearing me out, Estel. And . . . And don't rush it, will you?"

"What?'

His blue eyes twinkled mischievously. "You think I wouldn't notice what is going on between you and Éomer?"

For that, I hit him.

Hard.


	51. Chapter 50

I don't normally do these kinds of notes, but because this is listed under anonymous I can't really reply via PM, so . . .

To Doyoudare: In this chapter, you will see some of Estel's reasons as to why she spends so much time with Éomer – and in turn, her reasons behind many of her actions. However . . . you will also see that Estel doesn't really hold herself firmly to the belief that the "past" can't be changed. Those views, of course, are up to interpretation as you wish. But there is one thing I want to make clear: As of this point, Estel _does not_ have any feelings for Legolas. She isn't trying to run away from him or anything. After all, keep in mind that this is the first time Estel has ever gotten a crush on someone, so she doesn't really know how to act.

Okay, that's done with – read on!

* * *

_**Chapter Fifty**_

~ _Legolas_~  
"The Beacons of Minas Tirith! The Beacons are lit!"

Everyone's head snapped up and all attention immediately focused on Aragorn, who had burst through the door and had started shouting. For some of the Men, the shouting was probably indiscernible; the echoes were quite strong in this hall. But with my Elven senses, I could hear every syllable.

And, of course, I could also hear that he had run from where he had been watching the beacon.

"Gondor calls for aid!" Aragorn finished, sliding to a halt right in from of Théoden.

There was a rustle of cloth, and I felt a hand touch my shoulder.

Estel.

"~What is going on?~" she whispered, her eyes wide. Her hair was blown-about and her face looked windswept. She was wearing riding clothes instead of her normal ones. All in all, I knew immediately why she did not know what the whole town must have known by now.

I glanced quickly across the hall – but no, Éomer was already here. Had been here.

So. She had gone riding alone.

Inside, some part of me whispered, _Good._

"~The Beacons of Minas Tirith have been lit,~" I said as softly as possible, barely moving my lips and not looking at her.

A sense of grim satisfaction settled over her. "~So. Mithrandir succeeded. Excellent.~"

This time, I did look at her. She hadn't been the council meeting; she hadn't even been awake when the decision of what to do had been made. And no one had spoken of it afterward – to anyone. Mithrandir had simply left, acting strangely and without reason as he always did – or so it had appeared to everyone who didn't know.

Estel, apparently, had.

"~You knew all along?~" I asked.

Estel met my gaze squarely, a strange glance of wisdom in her young grey-blue eyes. "~It is the only way for Aragorn to meet his destiny,~" she replied simply.

I turned back to the standoff. Aragorn had a desperate yet proud look on his face. He wanted Rohan's help – he _needed_ Rohan. And yet . . . And yet I knew, as well as everyone else knew, that if Théoden refused, Aragorn would ride to Gondor's aid alone anyways.

I saw movement out of the corner of my eye – Eldarion, shifting closer to Aragorn from the shadows.

_Or, perhaps, not alone_, I amended. There was no way that Eldarion was going to abandon Aragorn – or Gondor. Eldarion had never stopped being loyal to Aragorn.

But that, perhaps, only made the future more unclear.

Aragorn would go to Minas Tirith. Eldarion would not leave Aragorn to face death alone. Nor would I or Gimli, for that matter. The only problem? No doubt Estel would follow us all, regardless of what we said or did.

And we would all die. And without a King on the throne of Gondor, hope would die for Middle-earth as well.

Now, more than ever, we needed Rohan's help.

Unfortunately, Théoden's face gave away nothing. All I could see was that he was confused. On one hand, his honor demanded that he help Aragorn, who had helped Rohan win a victory at Helm's Deep. On the other, his bitterness and resentment for the times when Gondor had not helped him had piled up over the years, and it was strong.

"~What will Théoden do?~" I murmured.

Estel sighed. "~With our interference . . . and so many things changed . . . I don't know,~" she confessed, worry in her tone. "~I can only hope.~"

Hope. She could only hope.

I shook my head with a sad smile. _She knows what will happen already._ It was obvious. And if it didn't happen, then she would do something to make sure it happened.

"~Hope,~" I repeated. "~It seems I must hope alongside you.~"

Finally, Théoden cleared his throat and his eyes seemed to come back to the present.

"And Rohan will answer," he said finally.

I sighed quietly in relief, but when I turned around to tease Estel about her worries, I found that she was gone.

~ _Éomer_ ~  
When I walked into the stable and found Estel there saddling a horse, to say I was taken aback was an understatement.

"What are you doing?" I asked immediately.

She didn't even blink. "Hello, Éomer."

I sighed in annoyance. Now was no time for her dancing around. "Estel, what are you doing?"

"Getting ready, obviously."

I crossed my arms. "Oh really? Getting ready for what?" When she didn't answer, I strode closer and realized that she wasn't just wearing sturdy riding clothes – she was dressed as she had in Helm's Deep. Well, except for the light chain mail. But she still carried her sword and bow and quiver, just as she had before.

When I spoke, I was surprised that my voice was steady. "Where are you planning to go?"

She tossed a small smile over her shoulder. "That depends on you, of course," she replied enigmatically.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm going with you. The King has you off gathering warriors, doesn't he?"

My mouth fell open. "You think this is some kind of joke?" I demanded. "Estel, this is a real battle, not a . . . a . . ."

"Helm's Deep was a battle too," she said tartly. "Besides, all the men you're gathering will need the women. Who else will cook and wash and care for when the wounded? Certainly not you and the rest of the men, and Aragorn cannot cover everyone."

For a moment, I found myself unable to form a response. She actually had a point. Not the greatest one, of course, but it was a point.

"Estel," I said finally. "This will be too dangerous."

She whirled around, her hands on her hips and a dangerous look in her eyes. "I'm coming whether you like it or not. Besides, I fought in Helm's Deep as well – if that is more dangerous than this, I don't see how!"

I sighed in irritation, but I already knew who was the victor and who was the loser. Estel was far too stubborn to give in now that her mind was so firmly made up. After all, despite all of their protests, she _had_ fought in Helm's Deep. And the time after that, it had taken the combined arguments of Aragorn, Legolas, and Mithrandir to force her to remain behind when we had gone off to Isenguard, and it had been a very close shave even then. There was no way that my arguments alone would convince her to stay.

"Very well," I said with another sigh.

"Told you I would win," she said with a smirk, stroking her horse's nose affectionately.

"Yes, well, you're very stubborn." I glanced at her saddle packs and found them empty. Frowning, I said, "You had best put some things in there, you know, if you plan to go traipsing across Rohan with me."

A smile lit her face. "Give me a minute."

When she was gone, I swung up into the saddle and stared morosely out the door. As much as I secretly felt happy to have some time alone with Estel, I also knew that it would make things a bit more difficult. Whatever she said, Estel just wasn't used to the conditions of staying in the saddle for so long. And Rohan wasn't exactly like Minas Tirith; the land itself was dangerous, not just the creatures on it.

Ah well. I would just have to deal with it.

Besides, it would be nice to get to know Estel better. It would be easier to do it this way than to marry a half stranger.

~ _Estel_ ~  
"~And what do you think you are doing?~"

I started and whirled around, one hand deep in a saddle bag and the other holding a random assortment of clothes. Legolas was leaning against the doorway, his blue eyes surveying the mess and his arms crossed over his chest. His face was set in a disapproving frown.

"~Getting ready,~" I said, turning back to my packing.

"~For what?~"

I stopped. I didn't think he would be happy about what I had to say next. "~I'm going with Éomer.~"

There was a small silence. Then:

"~Are you out of your mind?~" he demanded, quiet anger in his tone. "~This is not the time for tagging along for adventure, Estel! Especially with him.~"

I swung around to face him. "~I know what kind of time this is, Legolas! I know what will happen, remember? And what is wrong with Éomer? You think he'll be like Boromir all over again? You think I can't handle it?~"

His eyes turned unreadable, but the anger remained on his face. "~Estel, how can you think that? You think I don't know your capabilities? You think I misjudge you because of your gender?~"

"~It seems like you are!~"

His hands tightened into fists, and I knew that he was struggling to hold on to self control. His eyes flashed. He seemed suddenly very dangerous.

But I was far too angry to pay too much attention to that. I was just . . . _done_ with people trying to tell me what to do. I had traveled with the Fellowship and emerged unharmed. I had fought in Helm's Deep and done my best. I had faced Sauron. Perhaps it was the adrenaline speaking, but I needed to _do_ something. Always, whenever things had happened, someone else had done something fore me.

No more of that.

"~Estel,~" he said calmly, or at least forcing himself to speak calmly, "~think about what you are doing before you do it. Don't be impulsive. That is all I ask.~"

"~I _have_ thought about this. More than one. And for a long time. Whatever you say won't be enough to stop me.~"

He sighed, and it seemed that his anger drained away. "~Then,~" he said quietly, stepping forward and taking my hands within his, "~I guess that all I can say is what I have always said to you: be careful, Estel.~"

A funny feeling – warm and fluttery – ran through me when he clasped my hands and as his blue eyes stared into mine. It was like butterflies were fluttering gracefully in my stomach, and I felt at once like going weak at the knees and collapsing and at once like the tallest, most important person in the world. It was like the strangest mix of heat and cold, running through my veins and leaving the most unusual aftertaste behind.

But before I could reply, he dropped my hands and spun gracefully around and strode from the room.

And the feeling was gone, leaving me feeling at once exhilarated and let down.

My mother entered, one eyebrow raised. "~Estel, child, what is with all of this shouting?~" Before I could stammer an answer out, she continued, "~You and Legolas have always gotten along so well; what could be the cause for such disagreement between you two? I have not known an Elf to lose his temper like that before.~"

"~Mother, I . . . I'm just tired of people holding me back,~" I confessed finally. "~I want to get out there – I want to explore. Even after all of this time, even Legolas still treats me like I'm this delicate little girl.~"

My mother looked unimpressed. "~Have you ever considered that he acts thusly perhaps because he sees you as a person to be cherished, not because he believes you unable of not accomplishing your tasks?~" She paused. "~Come, my child, think. Legolas is a great deal older than you, and he has met many of our kindred. To suggest that he thinks you unable to act because you are a woman. . . Why would he think that after spending so much time with you? I think your mind is clouded on this issue, my child, and on many others.~"

"~Mother. . . How did you hear?~" I asked nervously.

"~All of it, of course.~"

I waited, but that was all she seemed inclined to say. "~You won't stop me from leaving with Éomer?~"

My mother sighed and shook her head in quiet amusement. "~You really think I would actually try? I know your temperament, little one.~" She reached out and touched my cheek. "~Go, then, if you think you must, and with my blessing.~"

"~Thanks, Mother,~" I said fervently.

She held up a hand. "~Do not thank me that way, child. Thank me by considering how clouded your mind is concerning Éomer and Legolas, and why. When you've figured it out, let me know.~"

I stared at her retreating back. _Éomer? How does she know that he . . . _"~How did you know that?~" I called after her.

She laughed over her shoulder. "~My dear child . . . I am your mother.~"

I sat with a frown on the bed. I knew I was confused about Éomer. I liked him, yes, but to go so far as to one day be his bride? That was a whole different story. Besides, from the history I had studied, I knew that he was supposed to wed Princess Lothíriel, daughter of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. _Can history be changed? _Should_ I change it? Should I wed Éomer and take her place? Or is that just a really bad idea?_

I groaned. And it wasn't just Éomer my mother had mentioned – she had talked about Legolas too. But I had no idea why. Legolas was just like a big brother to me. I had no confusing feelings about him, none at all.

Well . . . except for that strange feeling when he had held my hands.

But that . . . that couldn't be anything. It was just strange, that was all. Legolas and I hadn't had much contact before – that was it.

An alarm bell began ringing violently, and I jumped. Like a madman, I seized what remaining things I needed, stuffed them into the bags, and ran down to the stables. Éomer was there, already on his horse, and shaking his head in exasperated amusement at me as I fumbled with the straps and clambered up.

"Very smooth, Estel," he said with a grin, taking up the reins.

"Oh, be quiet," I snapped back, but against my will I grinned back at him.

He rode forward into the yard, and as he did I heard him cry, "Now is the hour! Riders of Rohan, oaths you have taken! Now, fulfill them all! To Lord and Land!"

_And so begins our greatest battle_, I thought.

* * *

Bet no one expected Estel to do that, huh? (To tell the truth, I didn't either.)


	52. Chapter 51

**_Chapter Fifty-One_**

(everything is spoken in Elvish)

~ _Aragorn_~  
I looked around with a frown. There was Eldarion, sparring fiercely with one of the Rohirrim; and there was Tinúviel and her mother, both preparing herbs and food with some of the other women that had come along; but where was Estel? Surely she had not remained in Meduseld. Éowyn hadn't, and I knew that Estel and Éowyn were very similar in attitude and personality. She wouldn't have missed this chance for all the world.

"Legolas?" I called.

He looked up from where he was sitting. His eyes had an almost distracted look in them – a look I had seen more and more since we had left Meduseld.

"Have you seen Estel? I don't see her."

Legolas's lips tightened when I said Estel's name, a reaction that surprised me.

_Estel and Legolas have always gotten along well; what could possibly be wrong between the two of them?_ I wondered.

"She went with Éomer," he stated shortly.

I blinked. "With Éomer?" I repeated, astonished. "~Why?~"

He shrugged. "I'm not quite sure. She didn't explain about it. I tried, but . . . well . . . Estel is stubborn. We all know that. Once her mind is set on something, she won't let it go until she thinks she's ready to let it go."

I eyed him curiously. "She didn't tell you?"

He shook his head.

My curiosity increased. Out of all of us, perhaps only Eldarion or Lady Kiria would have been able to get more information out of Estel. I mean, I got along well with her and her with me, but . . . it wasn't the same. Legolas and Estel simply _clicked_. There was just something about him that she couldn't help being drawn to, and there was something about that he couldn't help sympathizing with.

"What happened?" I asked.

His fingers tightened momentarily in his lap before they relaxed. "We argued," he answered. "Something about what I said set her off and . . . that was the end of it."

"Hey." I put my hand on his shoulder. "Relax. She won't stay angry long, Legolas. You've been her friend for so long."

"Not really."

"Well, for a lot of adventures then," I amended. "But the point is that she trusts you. In time, she'll realize that her welfare was what was really behind your actions, nothing else. Besides, someone has to watch out for her, as she doesn't."

He didn't even attempt to smile. "Estel may be quick to trust, but I don't think she is also quick to forgive."

I raised an eyebrow. "She forgave Boromir," I pointed out, nodding to where the man in question was now giving tips to Eldarion about sword fighting. Boromir had felt awkward about rejoining what remained of the Fellowship, especially after what had happened, but in time he had gradually settled in. He and Eldarion, despite all beliefs, were actually getting closer now.

Legolas's roaming gaze settled for only seconds on Boromir. "Boromir and her are different from me and her," he said.

I turned to face him completely, intrigued by his words. Legolas had never seemed so down before over such a trivial issue like this. . . Perhaps there was more at stake than I had previously realized.

"Oh? How so?"

Legolas's eyes snapped back to me and he drew himself up. "I did not . . . never mind." He stood abruptly. "I'm going to find Gimli before he gets himself into more trouble."

I stared after him. Did the topic of Estel distress him so much? Did he really . . . Did he really _care_ that much about her? I suppressed a chuckle. _Legolas, my old friend . . . even you can't hide your feelings for long. _

"Obvious, isn't it?"

I turned to see Eldarion seat himself heavily beside me, breathing hard and sweating. But his voice was steady and calm, a good sign of his endurance even after that long sparring bout. He had trained well, I noted, and I would have to speak to him about that later. Right now, I was more interested in what he had just said to me.

"You know?"

"Who doesn't?" he returned strangely.

I frowned at him. _Is it really that clear that Legolas has feelings for Estel? And if so . . . why hasn't Eldarion confronted Legolas yet?_ "It is?"

"Obviously."

"So . . . you approve?" I asked slowly.

He gave me a strange look. "Doesn't everyone?"

_Everyone? I don't think Éomer would approve, but . . . then again, Eldarion knows Éomer better than I do._

"Even Éomer? And you?" I pressed.

He gave me another strange look, as though I was being extremely dumb. "We all do, Aragorn. I thought you definitely would approve; you encouraged it, didn't you? From the very beginning, remember?"

_I _did_?_ For a moment, I frantically went over every single one of my recollections of the early days of the Fellowship. _No, I didn't! I didn't even _know_ Estel in the beginning. I definitely didn't _encourage_ Legolas to gain feelings for her!_

"No, I did not!" I said without thinking.

Eldarion stared at me. "Uh, Aragorn. . . Are you feeling okay?

I blinked, surprised by the sudden change in subject. But I replied dutifully nonetheless. "Yes, of course. Why?"

He hesitated. "Well . . . what are you talking about?"

"You don't know?" _Then how . . . what is going_ on_?_ "What are _you_ talking about?"

"Um . . . I don't think we are talking about the same thing," he said after a moment. "_I_ was talking about how Legolas and Gimli are finally becoming friends; you encouraged them to do that and set aside their prejudices a long time ago, remember?"

I breathed a quiet sigh. "Ah. Yes, I do." _So he doesn't know. Perhaps it's better to keep it that way until Estel or Legolas can tell him. . ._

"So . . . what were _you_ talking about?"

I froze. _Uh oh._ "Never mind. It was a trivial matter," I lied.

He raised an eyebrow.

I sighed. _How do I go about this now?_ Eldarion knew very well that I was lying; now he would be on the lookout and pay even closer attention. Exactly what I _didn't_ need to happen to me. _But then again . . . Eldarion is bound to find out sooner or later. Estel _is_ his sister._ I frowned. _But come to think of it, I don't even know if Estel knows that Legolas has feelings for her. . ._

"So . . . you don't know?" I began.

He spread his hands. "If I did, would I be asking you?" he retorted.

I sighed. "Point, but I had to start somewhere, didn't I?" I hesitated, gathering my thoughts. Finally, I leaned forward and said, "I was talking about Legolas."

Eldarion frowned, concerned. "What about Legolas?"

"Eldarion, do you . . . have you noticed anything . . . well, what is your opinion about the relationship between Legolas and Estel?"

He blinked, surprise flitting across his face at my words. "What? Legolas and Estel? Well . . . I mean, I am glad they are friends. . . What are you getting at, Aragorn?"

"Eldarion . . . What would you do if, say, one day . . . one day they were more than friends?"

There was a long moment of silence as Eldarion thought about it. For a few minutes, I could see that he was confused by both my hesitancy in saying it and what I implied with it. He just didn't get it – but that wasn't really surprising, as he had not yet found someone he wished to become "more than friends" with. And then, suddenly and all at once, comprehension sunk in. Surprise – true, real, pure surprise – flashed across his face.

"What?" he spluttered. "But – How – You mean – "

"I mean what?" I prodded.

"You mean. . ." He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "You mean that . . . Legolas has . . . that he has _feelings_ for Estel?"

~ _Eldarion_ ~  
And Aragorn had the audacity to _laugh_ at me. "That would be why I thought it wasn't _that_ obvious," he said by way of answer, still chuckling in between words. "But . . . yes, I really think he does."

"Why, though? He's a prince – the only heir to the throne," I said slowly. "Estel is just . . . a mortal."

Estel was my favorite sister, and she certainly was pretty – but then again, she was the youngest in the family. By all means, especially here, just a regular mortal girl . . . who was somewhat a tomboy and preferred practicing archery than dancing. But if anything, compared to the others that was a trivial obstacle. Legolas was a _prince_. And as such, his father would surely want a more lady-like and _Elven_ wife for him – certainly not a normal, tomboyish mortal.

"So was Beren," he pointed out. "And so am I. Love can strike in the strangest of ways sometimes."

"Yes, but . . . Love didn't always go down that well either," I shot back. "Remember what happened to Beren?"

"I hope your mother will _not_ insist on a death-defying way of Legolas proving his affections," he said gently, easily understanding my reference. "And, besides, this is all still a theory, Eldarion. You'd do well to remember that before you act impulsively."

"A _theory_?" I repeated incredulously. "Aragorn, there's almost no one alive who knows Legolas as well as you do!"

"Keep your voice down," he warned, putting his hand on my shoulder.

I sighed, irritated – but more so because I knew he was right. And inhaled. And exhaled. And inhaled again. And exhaled again. And, after a long series of repetitive movements, I felt it was safe to once again resume our conversation. Aragorn showed no sighs of leaving; he was just watching me in concern. Although, whether it was concern over my reaction or concern that someone might hear, I didn't know.

Finally, I blew out one last breath. "How long have you had this . . . theory?"

He frowned thoughtfully. "Not long," he replied. "And I doubt either Estel or Legolas truly knows what they feel either. Legolas may have some suspicions, but even so . . . I doubt he'll truly confront them for some time. Especially with Éomer around."

I raised an eyebrow at his tone. "You say his name so . . ."

"Perhaps I am slightly biased," he allowed. "But still . . . in accordance with what you and your family remember, didn't Éomer marry?"

I frowned, memories stirring at his words. "Actually . . . yes, he did, now that I come to think about it. And we are descended from that union too; the blood of the Kings of Rohan flows in my mother's veins as the blood of the Kings of Gondor flowed in my father's. Well, that is slightly problematic. . . What should we do?"

"So you think Legolas should pursue Estel?" he asked.

After a long moment, I nodded as images of the many times I had seen them laughing together, working alongside each other, and trading banter. Besides . . . Legolas, unlike Éomer, did not have any problems as far as I knew – our blood came from those of Doriath and Númenor, and had no major connection to those of Mirkwood. But the most important thing was the fact that there was just something . . . something _right_ about their relationship that I couldn't deny, even when I had seen them simply as best friends.

"I trust him," I said finally. "We all do. And I think . . . I think they would happy together."

Aragorn suddenly held a finger to his lips and tilted his head the tiniest bit possible to the right.

I turned my head ever so slightly in that direction – and saw, out of the corner of my eye, a tall, graceful, golden-haired figure walking away.

I whipped my gaze back to Aragorn, stunned. "You knew he was eavesdropping?" I hissed.

He raised his hands innocently. "Not until the very end," he said, but he was grinning. "Besides . . . didn't you just say it would be okay?"

"Yes, but . . . oh, never mind," I grumbled. I stared into the flames of the fire as Aragorn chuckled at my words.

"I guess," I said slowly, "I'm just not used to the idea of Estel falling in love . . . . with anyone. She's always been so . . . tomboyish. She likes to compete with people, and she hates to be treated as a weak woman. She's strong and stubborn, in her own way."

Aragorn nodded. "But that strength is also what makes Legolas attracted to her," he pointed out. "He is used to looking down on mortals, save the few he knows are different – like you and me, for example. And now he finds Estel, a complete contradiction to that. She challenges not only the assumed conceptions of the actions of women in terms of her gender but also in terms of her race. Can you not see the irresistibility in that?"

"Um . . . No."

He chuckled again. "That's because you are used to it. Try to see it through a stranger's eyes." He rose and clasped my shoulder. "Good night, Eldarion."

I grabbed his wrist. "Are you ever planning to tell Legolas that we saw him?"

"No."

"Good idea."

~ _Legolas_ ~  
I leaned against a tree with a sigh and stared into the sky of stars.

Most of the Men were asleep by now, save the guards and some of the last Men dousing their doubts in beer. And, of course, some of those who were still talking – about the upcoming battle, about their families back home, about everything conceivable under the sky. I had already heard quite a few of the conversations before . . . long before, during battles older than most of the Men here.

One had stood out, though – the one I had mistakenly overheard between Eldarion and Aragorn.

I sighed again as I thought it over. _So . . . Aragorn already guessed that I had feelings for Estel. I should have known he would by now . . . he knows me very well._

But for Aragorn to tell Eldarion . . . and Eldarion's reaction . . . and what they had discussed – that all was a completely different story.

I had already known, of course, that Éomer favored Estel and had feelings for her as well. Prior to this, I had intended to step aside. I was, and had always been, a conservative person. I had never wished to reveal my feelings for Estel in case she felt honor-bound to accept them. No. I had seen enough for love, perhaps too much of it, for that. If she was going to accept me, she would have to do so on her own terms and for her own reasons. In other words, not for me – for herself.

I knew Éomer's flaws now, but that didn't give me a reason to charge forward and announce it to Estel . . . did it?

I sighed again, closing my eyes briefly. _So confusing. . . No wonder poor Estel is caught up so deeply in it._ For no matter who or what she chose when eventually she did choose, she was going to hurt someone, and she was never going to forget it. I could easily disappear, though; Éomer . . . not so much.

But I couldn't make the decision now. Estel may have already chosen Éomer. If she had, it would be worst than pointless to bring up anything else.

_So I wait._


	53. Chapter 52

**_Chapter Fifty-Two_**

~ _Estel_~  
Éomer had been right about some things, I had had to concede. For example, trying to follow in his footsteps was indeed hard to do for me. We rested little and rode more; we ate quickly and went without for long periods of time. And the worst thing was that his gender did give him advantages over mine in this lifestyle. I knew all of this and more – but I was still determined not to give in.

Besides, I secretly was wondering if he was deliberately trying to make me give in so I wouldn't bother him about this again.

So I didn't give up.

The second night saw me cracking just a bit, though. We had gotten no sleep the day before; Éomer had insisted we ride straight through the night. I understood his reasoning – we only had one more day – but I was still tired.

Well, exhausted was more like it.

Even worse, Éomer seemed perfectly fine. His gaze was clear and alert, and his movements were smooth and free of hesitations. He was awake and perfectly fine without that sleep.

I was not so fortunate.

We were resting now, waiting to see if any more recruits came. If not, come just before dawn we were to ride off to join up with the rest of the army that could be mustered. The Men were sitting around their own campfire, talking and joking as most people did before war – trying to pretend everything was fine and dandy. I didn't sit with them. Sometimes bawdy jokes were also passed around, and I had no intention of being part of that.

"You look exhausted."

I looked up and accepted a cup from Éomer. "Thanks."

"It wasn't an insult," he said, sitting down besides me.

I took a sip; the liquid, whatever it was, was slightly cloying in its sweetness, but it was a welcome relief after days of riding without rest. "I was saying thanks for this, not being sarcastic," I told him.

His face eased somewhat. "Oh." He heaved a sigh. "We didn't get as many as I'd hoped, unfortunately, and I doubt more will come in the time remaining."

I was silent.

He looked at me. "You aren't going to say anything?" he asked, surprise clear in his tone.

I took another sip. "Éomer, how many we have is how many we will have. That won't change by any comment I make. I learned that a long time ago."

"You learned well," he remarked. "But not, apparently, well enough to know that war is not the province of women."

I lowered my cup and glanced at him. He was deliberately not looking at me, so he knew exactly what he was saying and the effect it would have on me. "And what makes you say that?" I said, endeavoring to keep my voice calm and light.

He touched my shoulder. "You're not suited for this. I can see it in your grimaces whenever you sit in the saddle."

"What are you saying, Éomer?" I repeated.

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, sighing. He looked like he was on the verge of giving me a lecture. Finally, he said, "Look, Estel – this isn't the kind of life for you. Maybe you should accept that."

At that I was hard pressed not to glare at him. "Éomer," I said slowly, "maybe it's time for you accept that I am not a normal person. I like to challenge myself."

"I can, but . . . this is the world of men, Estel. You shouldn't cross that line."

My temper flared then. "What do you want of me, then? To act like a normal house girl and tend to the kitchens?"

"I don't want anything, Estel – I just wanted to – " He broke off and took a deep breath. "Look, it's late and we are both annoyed. I think it's time we called it a night and went to bed."

I handed him back the cup coldly. "Good night, Lord Éomer."

Back in my tent, I fumed and paced. No one – _no one_ – had ever done that to me. Well, those who had enslaved me but they had done so by crushing my will, not lecturing me on it. Even my sister, who sometimes disapproved of my more tomboyish ways, didn't go that far. No one ever had. And the reason why? Everyone knew me well enough to know that by doing so, they were signaling to me that they didn't accept me and wished to change me.

The problem?

_I changed of my own will. No one else's._

Perhaps, one day, I would become as my sister had and decide to be more lady-like and daintier and more practical. Perhaps. It was a big jump.

But if you tried to get me there, I would resist with everything I had in me.

It wasn't very practical of me, but I had endured a long time of people trying to crush my spirit and change me. I needed this time to be free, to stretch my wings and fly, to do what I wanted to do. And so far, everyone had accepted that – even the Elves, who generally didn't understand such things.

I sat down. _But then again, he doesn't know me very well._

The thought shocked me – but it was true. Éomer actually did not know me very well. We had spent perhaps under a month together. Even Legolas, who by all means was a complete stranger, knew me longer than that.

_Perhaps_, I concluded reluctantly, _I should give him another chance. We _are_ both irritated and tired. No doubt that has affected our moods and our irritability._

But before I could even consider trying to find him, the tent flap – which I had forgotten to seal – shifted open and Éomer entered.

"Estel?"

I stood. "Yes?"

He shifted uneasily from foot to foot, looking for all the world like a nervous young boy. "Estel, I . . . I'm sorry for the harsh words. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. I . . . I let my temper get the better of me." He gave me a half smile. "For all my words, I'm not really used to pulling all nighters either."

Inwardly, I was stunned. Éomer had always seemed too . . . proud, too self-assured to apologize like this. _Shows how little I know _him_,_ I realized.

"I'm sorry too," I confessed. "I let my temper get the better of me."

He blew out half a breath. "Truce?"

I took his extended hand with a grin. "Definitely. We should argue when we've both gotten some sleep, I think."

He laughed. "No thank you! I won't argue with you like that until we've had _lots_ of sleep."

"Even better."

Carefully and almost shyly, Éomer took another step forward. I mirrored his action, curious as to what he wanted to talk about. He had already proven that he could surprise me and do things I had never expected him to do.

And he definitely stunned me.

Because he reached up and rested his fingers against my cheek in a surprising gentle move.

It wasn't the gentleness that surprised me; it was the action itself. Éomer had never really been one to really initiate contact between us. True, he had hugged me once, but that didn't really count. Hugging to comfort someone who was tired and drained was different from actually touching someone's cheek to express affection.

It was then that I realized just how much Éomer had really fallen for me.

By the time I got over _that_, I realized quite suddenly that Éomer and I were very, very, very close together.

He was going to kiss me.

Without thinking, I pushed hard against his chest. His hands instinctively tightened over where they were gripping my shoulders, but he stopped, surprised by my resistance.

"No, Éomer." To my surprise, my voice was surprisingly calm.

He hesitated. "Why not? It's clear how I feel for you – and I know you feel about the same. So why not?"

I struggled to put my own hesitation into words. It just _felt_ wrong, but how do you say that without offending everyone? "I don't know. . . Can we wait? We still barely know each other. I don't want this to not mean anything – to either of us. I want to mean it if I marry you, Éomer. I don't want it to be an empty marriage. Do you?"

Silence fell between us for a long moment as he turned over my words in his head.

Finally, Éomer shook his head. "No. You're right. I'm sorry." He smiled another crooked grin. "And here I feared it was because of the Elf. . ."

I frowned. "Legolas?"

He nodded, releasing me and putting more space in between us – something I appreciated.

"What about him?" I asked, bewildered.

"Well . . . you seem . . . awfully close to him," he said hesitantly. "It made me wonder if . . . if, well, you liked him."

"If I didn't like him, would I be friends with him?"

"You know what I mean. I thought you . . . you had feelings for him. Feelings beyond friendship."

I stared, stunned. And then I started laughing. "Éomer . . . if _that_ is what is driving you to take things so quickly, then slow down," I said between laughs. "Legolas is just a friend, nothing more. I can never be anything more than friends with him, and I don't wish to be anything more than friends with him."

"Yet you are so close."

"Which generally happens when you've been through a few battles together," I commented. "And he taught me a lot of the skills I know – like archery. I learned a lot from him. We're more like teacher and student than anything else."

"Oh." Relief filtered through his gaze, and he seemed to relax.

"_Oh_ indeed," I mimicked, although it was merely to tease and not to accuse. Others had made the same mistake before.

Swiftly, he hugged me briefly – but long enough for me to understand just how much he liked me. When he drew back, his normal, cheerful smile was back on his face. "I guess when this is all over, I'll have to court you properly," he said. "Dates and all that. And I suppose I'll have to trouble your mother and brother to ask their approval."

"I doubt they'd say no, if that helps."

He laughed. "Good night, Estel."

When he was gone, I lay on the pallet and rested my head on the pillow, thinking. _Why did he think I wanted to be more than friends with Legolas? Why do people keep thinking that? Can't men and women be friends without people thinking they want to marry?_

As I thought about that, though, memories of my last encounter with Legolas arose. I flushed. I had let my temper get the best of me there too. . .

_I'll have to apologize to him_, I thought reluctantly. _It was out of line for me to do so. And he really only was thinking about my safety. . . He had the right to do that – he swore to Aragorn he would protect me to the best of his ability. . . I'll have to apologize._

With that thought resolved, I shut my eyes. Tomorrow would be the day where everything was resolved.


	54. Chapter 53

**_Chapter Fifty-Three_**

~ _Eldarion_ ~  
My sister and Éomer arrived as one of last groups to show up and report with how many men they had managed to find and recruit for the King. They brought with them a substantial amount of warriors, which helped to excuse their lateness in the King's eyes, but still . . . I knew my mother was still worried over her lateness.

Of course, my mother wasn't around now either; she was busy with Tinúviel preparing everything, so she wasn't around to scold Estel, but my mother had made it clear that Estel was to see her as soon as possible – especially if she was hurt.

I moved swiftly to her side, and when she had dismounted, I hugged her, torn between disapproval and relief.

"~No lectures, Eldarion,~" she warned, seeing the look on my face.

"~You know me too well.~" She glared at me threateningly, and I sighed, restraining my tongue only with difficulty. "~Very well. . . I'm glad you got back safely, though.~"

She hugged me back finally, relaxing somewhat. "~I'm glad to be back. My butt _hurts_ so much. . .~"

"~Riding a lot?~"

"~That's an understatement.~" She glanced around with a frown and then lowered her voice. "~How many do we have, Eldarion? For real. Don't lie to me.~"

I was ready to deliver the causal, "I'm shocked you don't trust me". But one glance at her face told me she was being serious. She wasn't in the mood for teasing – not now, anyways. The seriousness was sinking into her now, as it had when we had prepared for the Battle at Helm's Deep. She was retreating in her warrior mode now, shedding the casual skin of the innocent, light-hearted girl she normally was.

"~With the new regiment you brought in . . .~" I did some quick math. "~That's about six and a half thousand.~"

Her face fell. "~That won't be nearly enough.~"

"~I know. But we can always hope. . . It's more than last time, and they still made it.~"

She sighed. "~True.~"

Sensing someone's gaze on us, I looked up to find Éomer watching us patiently. He didn't understand what we were saying, so I was impressed at how placid and relaxed his expression was. Normally, people got annoyed.

To my surprise, I felt the urge to spirit my sister away on some made-up excuse.

I knew why, though. Just because Estel accepted that Éomer had feelings for her didn't mean I was totally comfortable with it. Especially after Aragorn's talk with me.

Estel glanced at me and then at Éomer and made up an excuse for me. "We're sorry for that, Éomer. And Eldarion – can you take us to the King? And Aragorn?"

I heard the unspoken question in her voice. "~Who else?~"

"~Um . . .~"

"~Ah.~"

Legolas. She wanted to see Legolas. But obviously, saying that in front of Éomer may not go down well, and Legolas pronounced in Elvish wasn't any different than Legolas pronounced in the common language.

Thankfully, Legolas didn't stray too far from Aragorn. This wouldn't be that hard.

"Come with me," I told her.

~ _Legolas_ ~  
"The horses are restless, and the men are quiet." The words came from me without effort, without thinking. I knew – I could feel it. Even if my eyes had been closed and my ears stoppered, I would have known. The air here practically screamed the message – if one knew how to read it.

Another presence intruded then, cutting off my connection.

"They grow nervous in the shadow of the mountain," said a voice.

I knew that voice. Éomer.

"That road there," Gimli said, "where does that lead?"

I didn't know who he addressed it to, but I answered anyways. I knew its legends better than Éomer anyways. "It is the road to the Dimholt – the door under the mountain."

I turned to find Éomer right beside us, his face grave as he studied the road. "None who venture there ever return. That mountain is evil," he said shortly. Then he whirled and moved to join Théoden to give his report.

I closed my eyes, trying to get a better feel for the place. I knew the stories, but I had never been here. I wanted to know –

"Legolas?"

I opened my eyes, irritated at being interrupted, but my irritation vanished and was immediately replaced with unease when it registered just _who_ had chosen to interrupt me now. It hadn't been Gimli; he had wandered off somewhere.

It was Estel.

"Estel," I said without thinking.

She didn't look much better than I felt. Her unease was reflected clearly in her blue-gray eyes, an outright sign of her inward feelings. Other than that, the only sign I could detect was her hands – how they were so tightly and securely clasped in front of her, so as to prevent her from nervously using them. But if someone wasn't watching her carefully, as I was, or didn't know her as well, as I did, one would have completely missed those signs.

"You look well," she blurted out.

I suppressed the urge to blink in surprise. "As do you." Once, I would have teased her. Now . . . Now I wasn't sure exactly where I stood with her.

Unfortunately, it looked like she didn't quite know either.

"Legolas, I . . . I want to talk."

"About?"

She took a deep breath. "About our . . . argument."

~ _Estel_ ~  
"You look well."

Inwardly, I kicked myself. _What a stupid thing to say. . . That does absolutely nothing; it accomplishes absolutely nothing._

Once, Legolas would have teased me for that. But his blue eyes remained clear, and he didn't say anything other than a formal reply. "As do you."

I knew I didn't. I did not look well after nearly three continuous days in the saddle. But I didn't want to waste time on trivial matters like that – and I certainly didn't want to get into an argument over it either. It was time to talk directly to him.

And hopefully, I could gain at least his forgiveness.

"Legolas," I said hesitantly, "I . . . I want to talk."

There was only a flicker in his eyes to indicate his feelings – but I couldn't tell what. Unease? Curiosity? Disgust?

But none were reflected in what he said. "About?"

I took a deep breath, trying to gather my courage. "About our . . . argument." Then I plowed on before he could stop me – before he could walk away. "I . . . You were right. I was wrong to . . . to do that. I shouldn't have let my temper get the better of me. You were only concerned for my welfare, nothing else and I . . . I thank you for that. Actually, I . . . I want to ask for your forgiveness."

As I spoke, I risked a glance upwards.

Pure shock reigned in Legolas's eyes – a clear sign of how surprised he was. Normally, I couldn't usually tell what emotions he was really feeling; he was that good at concealing them from me. But now . . .

I forced myself to say the last, terrible words. "But if you don't want to . . . I'll understand," I concluded miserably. _Valar, they even _taste_ bitter. . ._

Legolas didn't speak for a long moment, and I stared down at the ground. I couldn't look at him – I couldn't bear to see the look of disdain on his face that I knew he must wear. I was just a young human girl; what use or value was my friendship to him, and older and more experienced immortal Elven prince?

Just when I was about to give up and walk away, a hand landed on my shoulder as gentle fingers lifted my chin.

I flinched as I looked at his clear, impassive gaze.

And then it softened suddenly. "~Then you have it,~" he said quietly. "~And I must ask for yours as well.~"

I blinked as he released my chin. "You . . . You aren't angry?" I demanded incredulously. "After what I said to you, I thought – "

Legolas held up a hand. "~You were not solely at fault. Young you may be and harsh may have been your words – but that gave me no right to respond in kind. If anything, I should have held my tongue and accepted it as it was. So . . . am I forgiven, Estel?~"

"~If you forgive me.~"

He smiled. "~Then let's just put this behind us, shall we?~"

I let him draw me into a gentle embrace, his arms loose enough so that if I chose to pull away I could. But I didn't want to pull away from him. Instead, I let my head rest on my hands, which rested lightly on his chest.

As usual, Legolas's embrace made me feel . . . safe. I felt simply accepted, as I was and whatever I wished to be. There was no pressure to do anything or be anything or act in any special way. Even when my family held me, I had never felt like this. I already perceived some kind of emotion from them – love, respect, expectance. They loved me, but they also wished me to do things – for my own safety, of course. But despite that, sometimes I felt as though their love blinded them to my flaws.

With Legolas, I didn't get that sense. He had been with me long enough to see my strengths and my flaws, and yet he continued to accept me.

Yes, that was the emotion I got from him, especially now as he hugged me. Acceptance. Acceptance of me, exactly as I was. And somehow it meant a great deal more than love in terms of making me feel perfectly fine the way I was.

"Aragorn!"

A half-shout startled us both – I jumped and Legolas half-turned towards the sound.

But there was no need for alarm. It was just Gimli. And his next sentence proved there was no need for alarm at all.

"Let's find some food," he said.

As Aragorn blinked, stunned, after Gimli, I felt Legolas's shoulders shake and I looked at him questioningly. His blue eyes were filled with mirth as he shook his head.

"~Ah, Gimli, Gimli,~" he murmured.

I laughed. "~Ah, there goes Aragorn after him,~" I said. "~I wondered how long it would be before Gimli wanted food.~"

At the mention of food, Legolas's gaze snapped back to me. "~Have you had any?~"

"~Any what?~"

"~Food, of course.~"

"~Of course,~" I said indignantly. "~Éomer wouldn't let me starve. And I know how to feed myself, thank you.~"

He raised an eyebrow at me, but he was smiling, which ruined the effect. "~Indeed? Well, I fear I cannot say the same to you, Estel, in terms of how well you look,~" he teased, furthering ruining his attempt at seriousness.

"~Oh, hush,~" I shot back, but inside I was pleased.

We were back to normal now, if he was willing to tease me like this and allowing me to retort back to him. And thank the Valar for that.

Legolas placed his arm back around my waist. "~Come – you look starved. If we hurry, we can get there before Gimli and actually get some food. If you can still find it in you to keep up with me, of course.~"

I slid to stop. "~Is that a challenge, Thranduilion?~"

"~Of course not, Elessariel,~" he returned smoothly. "~I would never dream of taunting a lady, much less – ~"

I broke from his hold and took off running. "~See you there!~"

After a single stunned second, I heard musical laughter echo behind me as he followed me easily, and to my great surprise, he even let me win.


	55. Chapter 54

**_Chapter Fifty-Four_**

~ _Estel_ ~  
Laughter. That was what I had heard, what had distracted me. Curious, I made my way towards the sound – and then jumped back as the tip of something metal slashed across my stomach. Instantly, one of my hands flashed out in an instinctive move to shove away whatever had touched me while the other moved to rest on the hilt of my sword.

And then I realized what it was.

"Lady Estel!" Merry exclaimed from where he lay on the ground, scrambling to stand up again. "I'm so sorry! I didn't see you!"

I ran a hand along my stomach, eyeing his blade. _How come there is no wound? Why doesn't my hand hurt, at least, from hitting it?_

"I can see that," I said dryly, extending a hand to help the Hobbit back to his feet. "But there is no harm done, Merry. Your sword must be very blunt – I gather you are going to the smithy then."

"Yep!" he said proudly. "Éowyn helped me get ready – for tomorrow, you know."

"Ah." When he didn't move, I prodded, "Well, go on, Merry! I don't want to hold you back, you know!"

"Right! Going! Sorry!" he called over his shoulder.

As he vanished into the darkness, I shook my head in silent amusement and continued making my way towards where I had heard the laughter.

We had had a hasty and small dinner together, my entire family and I, but it had been a nice one. We had – for the time, anyways – cast off the thoughts of the upcoming battle and just relaxed and spent time together. As we all had been doing different things, it was nice to get back together and just talk and act as a family again. Even Legolas and Gimli, who normally didn't offer much, had joined into the conversations.

Words emerged from the darkness as I got closer to a fire. Three figures stood about it there – a woman and two armored men, who were eating. The woman faced away from the rest, though, her eyes in the same direction as Merry had gone.

"You should not encourage him," one of the men was saying.

Against my will, my heart jumped at the voice. _Éomer?_ I thought, edging curiously closer and leaning against a tree.

"You should not doubt him," the woman replied evenly. Éowyn.

"I do not doubt his heart," Éomer said, his voice muffled by whatever he was eating, "just the reach of his arm."

The other man chuckled, amused, but Éowyn didn't seem as inclined to do so.

"Why should Merry be left behind?" she demanded. "He has as much cause go to war as you! Why can he not fight for those he loves?"

There was almost a trace of . . . longing . . . in her voice, a longing that shocked me.

But not as much as the response.

Éomer stood and as he did so, he said coldly, "You know as little of war as that Hobbit. When the fear takes him, and the blood and the screams and the horror of battle take hold, do you think he would stand and fight?" He paused, and then answered himself. "He would flee, and he would be right to do so. War is the province of _Men_, Éowyn."

I was shocked by the coldness of his response. Éowyn was his sister, and yet he continued to say such things. If he was trying to protect her by saying such things, he was doing it far too coldly.

I was so stunned that I almost didn't notice when he walked right by me.

"Éomer."

He stopped and spun around, startled. Then he relaxed upon noticing me, although I knew my face lay in shadow. "Ah. Estel. There you are. I – "

"You shouldn't speak so coldly to her."

Éomer's expression hardened, the dancing flames of the fire making his expression seem almost inhuman. "You don't know my sister as well as I do," he said shortly. "Do not presume to pass judgments, Estel."

"I may not know her as well, but, Éomer . . . No women likes to be spoken to like that. If you wish her to stay out of the battle, simply be more direct. Just ask her."

"She wouldn't have listened."

"Do you think she will listen anymore now?" I demanded.

His eyes flashed momentarily. Then he crossed his arms, his expression turning sour. "What do you mean by this, Estel? What do you want?"

Words rose unbidden in my mouth, words I hadn't even known I was thinking. "Éomer, I . . . I am confused," I confessed. "I don't understand. You are attracted to the strength I hold in the arts of war – the same strength Éowyn has. And yet, when she wishes to use them, you drag her down. You do not let her."

"So?"

"So what do you want from me, Éomer?"

He blinked, startled. "What?"

"Éomer . . . I am just like your sister. I _will_ go to the battle, regardless of what anyone says."

Anger flashed across his face again – but this time, concern mixed in. He stepped closer to me. "You should not."

"Why not?" I shot back defiantly.

"War isn't meant for ladies. And you are a lady, Estel. You shouldn't fight. All you are doing is making us divert our attention as we struggle to protect you as well."

"Do you think so little of my abilities, Éomer? I held my own in Helm's Deep, and I shall do so again."

"No, Estel. Stay here. Don't go."

"Why not?"

"Because it is not your realm!" he exploded finally. "War is for _men_, Estel! Not for ladies."

I blinked, shocked by his words . . . and a bit hurt. Did he . . . Did he really think I was that inadequate of a fighter?

"I'm sorry," he said after a moment. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that, Estel."

I didn't answer.

"What do you want from me, Éomer?" I whispered.

My sudden change in topic caught him off guard. "What do you mean, Estel?"

"What do you want from me? Do you want me to marry you or . . ."

Hope glinted in his eyes – hope and affection and a fierce pride. He couldn't have looked any happier or prouder than he did right now. Or at least, I couldn't imagine him any happier or prouder.

"Yes. One day," he amended.

"Well, then tell me this – why do you love me?"

"Why do you ask?" he asked, confused. "I love you; I know I do. Isn't that enough?"

"No." I took a deep breath. "Look, Éomer, I know you like me. You like me a lot. And I like you too. But . . . But I don't understand what you want from me. Do you want the warrior girl I am now, the one you seem attracted to and yet shun and do not think ready for battle? Or do you want the fine, dainty lady to keep house and bear sons for your bloodline? What do you want for a wife, Éomer? Tell me now, because you have not yet told me and I can't figure you out."

"I want _you_, Estel," he said. "Exactly as you are."

"And yet, you cannot accept me as that."

Surprise entered his tone at my words. "I always have. When have I not?"

"Now."

He scowled. "Do I need to prove to you?"

"Please do."

I didn't expect him to kiss me. But he did, stepping closer, grabbing my shoulders, and pressing his lips to mine in a kiss.

I couldn't fault him for it being clumsy – it was probably his first time. Or that it was a bit rough – he was born and raised a warrior, and warriors are rough. Or that he held me too tightly against him for me to relax and kiss him back – he just didn't know what to do, really.

But there was one thing: there was just no . . . spark.

And in an instant, I knew I didn't love him. I would never be able to truly love him. Perhaps, I had never loved him.

He wouldn't be able to love me either. I was too contrary for him, too much part of the world of Men. He needed a different woman, one who could devote herself to him and love him and be the wife that he wanted, desired, and sought.

But I wasn't that person.

He released me. "I love you, Estel, and I intend to marry you," he whispered quietly.

I raised a hand, stopping him from kissing me again. "Stop, Éomer." Miraculously, my voice was calm and didn't shake.

"What is it?"

"I can't do this."

"Why not?" he asked, confused. "Just because I'm not your husband yet – "

"I can't accept this, Éomer."

"What?"

"Look," I said with a sigh. "I am not what you love, Éomer. You love an image, a whisper, a shadow filled with thought and not substance. I am not the woman you love and . . . and I don't think I ever will be."

He stumbled back a step, stunned. "Estel. . ." he said, half-pleadingly.

"No, Éomer. I'm so sorry." I blinked back tears and tried to smile. "And one day, I know you will find the right person. Good-bye, Lord Éomer Éomundion."

Then I ran, intent on sobbing out my misery in silence for the rest of the night.

Well, I was going to.

But then I ran straight into Legolas.

"~Estel! Estel, whatever is the matter?~" he exclaimed.

His blue eyes were filled with anxiety and concern, lips already forming soothing and calming remarks, hands reached out to me. I didn't care about all of that, though. When I saw him, none of that registered except him. Somewhere inside me, my instinct had already begun to associate Legolas with acceptance and calm and friendship.

Within seconds, I was huddled against his chest, seeking the safeness and security of his embrace.

For a minute, his arms didn't fold around me as they usually did; he seemed too stunned to do anything. But then he relaxed, and his arms came around me, and he continued to silently stroke my hair and wait for me to calm down.

After a long time, my sobs finally began to slow.

He traced a finger across my cheek, frowning that it was still soaked. "~What has upset you so much, Estel?~" he asked. "~There is no shame in needing to cry, but . . . I have never seen you like this.~"

"~It's Éomer.~"

He didn't say anything at first, but since I was cradled in his arms it was easy for me to tell how he stiffened ever so slightly. When he spoke, though, his voice gave no sign of the tension. "~What about Éomer?~"

"~I . . . He kissed me.~"

Legolas frowned. I knew that if I was an Elf like him, he'd be extremely offended by it; no Elf would have ever done that to me without my consent. But he had lived among Men long enough to realize that things worked differently. Still, I could see the quiet indignation in his eyes that he wasn't quite as successful as keeping out of his voice this time around.

"~And?~" he prodded.

"~And he said he wanted to marry me.~"

The air changed instantly. Legolas seemed to draw away from me, becoming distant and impassive. He even drew back physically, putting distance between us.

"~I'm very happy for you,~" he said formally, his tone stiff and his eyes bland.

But something stopped me from correcting him at once. Perhaps it had been how he had withdrawn from me, emotionally and physically, when I had told him. Perhaps it had been how he didn't object or ask any question but simply offered his congratulations. Or perhaps it had been how, somehow, I instantly knew that he was doing all of that to shield some kind of hurt at the news – false news, but he didn't know that, of course.

Éomer's words rang in my ears: "_I thought you . . . you had feelings for him. Feelings beyond friendship._"

Then I realized that the only reason he would have said that was if he had seen Legolas as a rival. And the only reason he would have thought that was if . . . was if Legolas _did_ have feelings beyond friendship for me.

Everything seemed to click just then.

And in that moment, I knew that Éomer had been right – somewhere, deep inside of me, I _had_ fallen in love with Legolas. But my instinctive mind, trying to protect me, had buried those feelings so deep down even I hadn't known it, and so I had thought that my feelings for Éomer had been right. Now I knew that really I had loved Legolas all along. And now I knew that he felt the same.

But most important of all?

It felt _right_.

~ _Legolas_ ~  
The anger and indignation that had blossomed inside of me when Estel had tearfully told me that Éomer had kissed her grew into hurt – deep, overwhelming, all-encompassing hurt. _So he finally proposed to her._

I knew she would accept. Why wouldn't she? Éomer was the heir to the throne of Rohan. He was handsome. He had shown himself capable of making her happy. He would be her husband.

And I would mourn silently from the sidelines.

"~Have you . . . Have you told your family?~" I forced out.

She shook her head once. "~There is no need to.~"

"~Why not?~" I didn't wait for her answer; it was growing just too painful now. "~Never mind; I'll go.~"

She caught my arm. "~Legolas – wait. There is no need to tell them.~"

"~Why not?~"

Estel took a deep breath. "~Legolas, I . . . I told him no.~"

The anger, the sadness, the hurt – they all vanished abruptly. Hope, quiet little hope, began to peek its head out. But I forced myself to remain calm. Perhaps she simply wanted to wait until after the war was over. . . No, I had to know. Now.

"~Why?~"

She smiled slightly. "~Isn't it obvious?~" She put her hands on my chest and raised her eyes to mine. "~I love you, Legolas. Not him.~"

Before I could even being to try and make sense of what she was saying to me, much less stutter out a confused "What?" to her declaration and demand a better, more detailed explanation as to why, suddenly she was kissing me and without even thinking, I was kissing her back with everything I had in me.


	56. Chapter 55

**_Chapter Fifty-Five_**

~ _Estel_ ~  
_This is how things are supposed to turn out_, I thought, closing my eyes.

The confession. The kiss. Even just the love between us. And I wasn't prone to believing in fairytale romances, but . . . this may have just changed my mind about it. Well, maybe when it sunk in and I finally found the time to realize it was real and not a daydream or fantasy. _And maybe not even then._

I had never seen Legolas so surprised as when my actions had finally sunk in. First he had pushed me away, startled. Then I had had to repeat what I had said – several times, actually. And then, when it had sunk in . . . I believed I had never seen someone so happy. It was like he was literally glowing with happiness. And he had picked me up and swung me around and we had kissed again, and it had been just as sweet as the first – although a great deal more passionate, now that it was clear where our feelings lay.

There was a rustle of cloth, and I felt Legolas's cool hand touch my hair. "~You aren't sleeping,~" he murmured.

"~I'm trying. But . . . ~" I rolled over to face him, smiling mischievously. "~But you – you are very distracting when I am trying, Legolas.~"

"~I can always leave . . .~"

"~No! I mean, no, no, don't, I didn't mean . . .~"

I trailed off as he laughed, blue eyes twinkling with amusement as I stumbled over my own words. I glared at him for making fun of me, but he only laughed harder before quickly gathering his composure and giving me a straight face. Well, unless I looked at his eyes, which were still laughing at me.

I sighed and rested my head on his chest. "~Legolas?~"

"~Yes?~"

"~When did you know?~"

He was silent for a moment; probably trying to figure out what I was talking about. "~What do you mean?~"

I sighed and shifted to look him directly in the eyes. I wanted his complete honesty, but more importantly, I wanted him to know I was being serious. "~I mean, when did you know that you . . . that you loved me?~" I elaborated.

Legolas's eyes became slightly distant. "~Hmm. . . I believe it was when Sauron tortured you,~" he said slowly. "~I was furious – more furious than I had been in a long time. It confused me. But actually, it had just been . . . gradually creeping up all along. Of course, by the time I realized it, I was ready to step aside, because it seemed you had already made our choice, and I didn't want to interfere.~"

"~So who gave the bravery to?~"

"~Besides you?~" he asked, amusement in his tone. I blushed, but he continued as though he hadn't seen. "~I overheard Aragorn and Eldarion talking. The realization that Aragorn knew . . . that was a big thing. I knew he wouldn't be fooled as I could fool myself. I decided then to give it one try – just one try, and if you rejected my suit, then I would step aside and bury my feelings.~"

Perhaps he realized that I was becoming drowsy, lulled by his voice, for he shifted to hold me more comfortably and asked, "~And you?~"

I blinked, startled. "~What?~"

He smiled patiently. "~And how did you know, _meleth_?"

I fell silent. His words had suited it best: "_But actually, it had just been . . . gradually creeping up all along._" But I couldn't copy them. Besides . . . I _did_ know when I had finally accepted my feelings for him.

"~I think . . . I think I didn't realize anything until I kissed Éomer,~" I said hesitantly. "~I had buried my feelings so deep that I thought I actually loved him. But when I kissed him, I realized I didn't. There was no . . . no _connection_ between us, just attraction. And then I knew that my feelings for him were just a desperate manifestation of my feelings for you – I _wanted_ to love him, because I was scared of what would happen if I loved you.~"

"~Scared?~" he repeated, his voice shifting between surprise and concern. "~Scared of what?~"

"~That you would reject me or . . . or that you would sail to Valinor and leave me here, I guess,~" I muttered shamefacedly.

"~I wouldn't do that to you,~" Legolas reassured me instantly.

I sat up bolt upright. "~I won't let you fade, Legolas. You _will_ have to leave me one day.~"

He sat up as well, reaching for me. I let him hold me, but only just. "~One day, yes,~" he agreed. "~But that day is long in the coming, Estel. You need not worry for it. Not yet. I will not leave whilst life burns in you still. Can you at least agree to that, as a compromise?~"

I held back. I wanted his word. I would not let him fade because of me. "~You promise to return to where you belong?~"

He inclined his head slightly. "~When all that holds me here is gone, yes. But only then.~"

I knew it was the best I was going to get out of him. He could be far more stubborn than me, and he could argue far better than me. In short, it would be best for me to take what he offered before he withdrew it all together.

I allowed him to draw me back to him. "~Thank you,~" I whispered.

He chuckled softly. "~You are so concerned for me, _tithen pen_, and yet it is you who is in far greater danger than I am.~" But before I could retort, he shifted and pressed his lips to my hair. "~Now sleep, _meleth_,~" he ordered softly, gently, lovingly.

An order I was happy to oblige, drifting off to sleep with Legolas's voice echoing in my ears.

~ _Legolas_ ~  
As carefully as I possibly could, I untangled my arms from Estel's sleeping figure. She was soundly asleep, but I knew she was a light sleeper; most of those with the blood of Númenor were, due to the influence of Elven blood and to the fact that many were warriors or, in the later years of this Age, part of the Dúnedain. As it was, I didn't want to wake her.

_Sleep, my love, and rest in peace for another few hours._

The clouds of war were gathering. I could feel it. And I knew where I was going with Aragorn, and the one thing I knew about it was that I didn't want Estel anywhere near it. She would be rather upset with me for leaving her, but better her upset than dead.

Swiftly, I rose and packed. There wasn't much, something for which I was thankful for. But then again, I had always traveled light.

I was just adjusting one last strap when a cool voice asked, "~Planning to leave without me?~"

I froze. _Valar. She did wake up._ "~How long were you awake?~" I asked without turning around, knowing she would hear me.

There was a rustle of cloth and then she was standing right behind me. "~Long enough to know what you were planning. You are very quiet, Legolas, especially when you intend to be, but . . . but I know when someone leaves my side.~"

I sighed and turned, placing my arms around her and gazing in her clear, steady blue-gray gaze. "~I didn't want you to come.~"

"~I know,~" she murmured. "~But I'll fight regardless of what you want, Legolas. And I don't want to fight except besides you. So why can't I come?~"

I sighed again, but I knew I couldn't fight her. She was a free spirit; to cage her was to kill her. I knew that all too well, and despite the fact that I was wary of the danger she would face, I just didn't have the heart to be her captor – even if it was for her own safety.

"~Very well,~" I conceded. "~Pack. Quickly.~"

Estel grinned and kissed me on the cheek. And I hoped I wouldn't regret my decision.

~ _Aragorn_ ~  
"Just where do you think you're off to?"

Gimli's rough voice startled me so much that it took all the self-control I had not to jump. Instead, I turned to him – concealing my adrenaline rush in my movement, and said as calmly as I could, "Not this time. This time you must stay, Gimli."

He grunted in disapproval, standing anyways.

A flash of movement caught my eye, and I saw Legolas approach with his horse, Estel appearing silently beside him. Both were dressed for battle, and the horse was packed and provisioned.

"Have you learned nothing of the stubbornness of dwarves?" Legolas asked, amusement in his tone.

"Might as well accept it. We're going with you, laddie," Gimli added.

After a long moment, I sighed and hoisted Gimli on my horse. When I went to mount, however, I paused. Legolas had swung on quite easily; his Elven heritage gave him great agility. As I watched, Legolas extended a hand and helped Estel up. She murmured something brightly to him as he took the reins in one hand and put his other on her waist, and he laughed quietly at her words, smiling at her the whole time.

That smile.

It made me pause.

I had been friends with Legolas for many years, and I had seen many of his smiles – but never had I seen one like that. It was so full of love that I instinctively knew that only Estel would ever get it.

_So. They are finally together._ I swung up. _Good._

Legolas would finally gain the trust, admiration, and appreciation that he needed, and Estel would get the protection, respect, and devotion she wanted. Both could, of course, live without them, but having them would make them more complete. And in return, both would get the love they had unknowingly sought and never found.

I glanced back, just in time to see Legolas stroke Estel's hair lovingly as she rested her head against his neck, closing her eyes and trusting him to keep her from falling.

_Yes, until now never found. But now that it is, there can't have been a happier couple since Beren and Lúthien._

~ _Estel_ ~  
The sun had risen somewhat by the time we reached the Dimholt door, but the air didn't reflect that. It was cold, almost unbearably so, and I found myself glad that Legolas had insisted I don the cloak I had received from Lady Galadriel. I knew he could tell, because of the smug expression on his face, but when we halted in front of the door, it vanished as he read the inscription.

"The way is shut. It was made by those who were dead, and the dead keep it. The way is shut," he finished.

Legolas swung off quickly, his face grim and his body tense. Aragorn dismounted less warily, but I noticed the tight grip he kept on his sword . . . on his _new_ sword. Andúril. Forged from the shards of Narsil into the Flame of the West. The sword of the King.

"Estel," Legolas said quietly, reaching for me.

For a second, I hesitated as Legolas reached to help me down. Hadn't I told Éomer exactly that I thought it had been something only my husband would do? Yes, those had been my exact words to him: "_Éomer, it isn't you. It's just . . . I always thought that that would be something only my husband would do. That's all._"

Legolas hesitated, seeing the war in my eyes, for which I was grateful.

Then I put my hands on my shoulders and let him lift me off and settle me on the ground in the embrace of his arms.

_It doesn't matter now_, I told myself. _Whether or not Legolas marries me or not, I still love him and he still loves me. He won't ever let me fall. And that is enough._

Gimli grunted suddenly. "The very warmth of my blood seems stole away," he muttered.

I shivered. For some reason, Gimli's exclamation seemed all the more right – and creepy – after Legolas had read the signs above the door. Which I wouldn't have been able to translate with him, but then again, without him, I probably wouldn't have come here.

Legolas looked down at me in concern, his hand loosening on the reins.

Just then, a fierce wind blasted out of the tunnel – and with equally fierce noise to follow that was as startling as the appearance of the wind. Every thought was instantly wiped from my mind as though the wind had blown through it too. The only thought that remained was an instinctive reaction that shouted, "_Danger! Run!_"

The horses obeyed. Neighing with fear and pawing at the air, they fled. Aragorn called for Brego, but for once the horse didn't obey him.

Legolas tensed, his arms tightening around me as though Orcs were clamoring for my blood right then and there. But there was no need; the compulsion died as quickly and as suddenly as the wind had appeared.

I leaned against him, feeling for once the need for protection.

Aragorn, however, seemed to have the opposite reaction. He whirled back to the cave and glared at it as though it was the Dark Lord itself. "I do not fear death!" Then he vanished inside.

Curious and worried, I made to follow – but Legolas stopped me.

"~If you wish to turn back,~" he said softly, his eyes searching mine for any hesitation or fear, "~now is the time.~"

I met his gaze squarely. "~I wish to continue. With you.~"

He sighed and hugged me gently, kissing my forehead. "~I should have known,~" he said with a rueful smile, "~that you would choose such. But you keep surprising me, _meleth_. Very well. But do not leave my side. Ancient forces are dangerous when roused.~"

"~Like you?~" I teased.

He only rolled his eyes as we walked inside.

* * *

meleth = my love ; beloved

tithen pen = little one


	57. Chapter 56

**_Chapter Fifty-Six_**

~ _Éowyn_ ~  
"Éowyn? Éowyn, are you all right?"

I started, nearly dropping the arrows I'd been placing in the quivers. The voice had been so unexpected and so close to me that it had finally shaken me out of the reverie I had been in, especially now in my mindless task of preparing the weapons for all of the men that were going to be riding out in a few hours to go to war.

I turned to find the Lady Kiria behind me, a sword and sheath in her hand and a curious expression on her face.

"Yes, Lady Kiria?" I asked, forcing my voice to remain calm.

Her eyes – blue like mine – seemed to relax a little. "That's better," she murmured, stepping to my side.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, child – except for the fact that you have been wandering around in your own little world for the past . . . oh, hour or more," she said calmly, setting down the sword and sheath. She faced me, a clear and steady expression on her face. "So perhaps I should be asking you about what is wrong."

I looked down, hiding behind my hair. "Nothing."

"Hmm." She was silent for a second. "It wouldn't have anything to do with what Théoden King said to you earlier this morning, would it?"

I spun around, scattering arrows as I did so, but too stunned to notice – much less care. All I could care about was what she had just said, so calmly and matter-of-factly as though she had eavesdropped on us.

"How – How did you – " I spluttered.

Lady Kiria paused, her eyes calm as she looked at me. "Those who speak softly and rarely hear a great deal," she said enigmatically. "I've long since learned the value of listening. . . But back to my original question."

After a long hesitation, I relented. "Yes."

"What does he want you to do?"

My uncle's words rang in my ears, loud and clear: "_I have left instructions. The people are to follow your rule in my stead. Take up my seat in the Golden Hall. Long may you defend Edoras if the battle goes ill._"

"Go back to Meduseld," I muttered in annoyance. "To take his place and rule in his absence until he or Éomer returns to take the throne. And then go back to where I was before."

Lady Kiria nodded slowly. "I see. And do you plan to do so?"

I stared. "What do you mean?"

"Do you plan to do as the King asked or not?"

"Ordered," I corrected at once. "Why are you asking me this, Lady Kiria? He is my King, and my blood kin. I have a responsibility to do as he sees fit. Rohan needs a ruler – now of all times, with Gondor's throne empty."

"Hmm. . . Your King . . ." For a second, I thought her eyes went blank and haunted, as though she was remembering something . . . something terrible. Something she still grieved for, despite all the time that had passed. Something that pained her more than anything I had ever experienced in my entire life, perhaps more than all of my pain put together.

"Lady Kiria?" I ventured tenatively.

Her eyes came back to me. I breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

"My apologies," she murmured. "I fear I do more reflection on the past than action in the present. . . Not that it matters. My children more than cover my share."

"Your son rides to battle?" I asked, slightly surprised. _I thought he would have left to rejoin the Rangers, as Aragorn did._

She smiled slightly, but it was a pained smile. I could see that although she agreed with and supported his decision, it pained her to say good-bye and wait in fear about the fate of her only yet very beloved son.

"Of course. He would not miss this chance. He is not of . . . not of Rohan, yes, but . . . does he not also deserve the chance to fight for those he loves?"

Her words shocked me. Those were the _exact_ same words I had spoken to my brother. Exactly.

But Lady Kiria was still speaking, and what she said next shocked me all the more.

"Besides, I doubt Eldarion would wish to be outdone by his sisters. . . They are still very competitive, my children," she finished with a smile.

"Wait – his . . . Lady Tinúviel and Lady Estel are also going to battle?" I asked, bewildered. "But they – "

She faced me calmly, one eyebrow raised in question. "But what, Lady Éowyn?"

"But . . . they . . ."

I floundered, hopelessly lost as I tried to articulate what my thoughts were saying without offending her. Lady Kiria, after all, was a lady of noble birth and older than me as well; I had to be respectful around her, even though I was a great deal higher up than her as the King's niece and second-in-line to the throne.

She laughed gently, smiling at me. "Do not be shy to speak our thoughts, Éowyn," she encouraged. "Don't worry about formal etiquette; that means nothing on the eve of war."

"But they're women!" I blurted out, the permission about three seconds before the gates opened.

Lady Kiria crossed her arms. "And since when has _that_ stopped any of us? My daughters have just as much right to fight today as anyone else here – they've lost people, like their father, just like everyone else; they are just as skilled in battle as anyone else; and there is one irrefutable fact that we need more warriors to add to the lines. The Dúnedain may join us, and the sons of Lord Elrond of Imladris, but even that may not be enough."

It was a matter of how stunned I was that I didn't stumble over the unfamiliar names she spoke.

"Still . . ."

But I was losing ground. She was right – all too right.

"Wait . . . their father?" I said slowly. "You . . . Your husband . . . He's dead?"

The pain entered her face again, but this time her eyes remained with me. She looked like she was carrying a burden I couldn't bear or understand until I experienced it myself, a burden that tired her more than anything else. But she just . . . kept going.

In an odd way, I admired her for that.

"He's been dead for many years," she said dismissively. "It's an old wound."

But even as she spoke, her hands shook slightly. An old wound it might be, but all wounds took their time – and their toll. It was obvious this wound had taken a great one, and still was.

"But my children," she continued, her voice warming and her eyes lightening, "are joy enough. My Eldarion is almost exactly like my lord, almost exactly. He's done everything he can to take his father's place, and he's turning out just fine.

"As for my daughters. . ." Lady Kiria faced me, eyes set and dead calm. "Tinúviel is more like a lady than any of us; I know that is what you see. What you don't is that she's also as skilled as any of us. Her work with the bow is the best I've seen. And a skilled archer could be the piece that swings the battle in our favor, for arrows fly further and sharper than swords sometimes."

I gaped at her without even noticing. Lady Tinúviel had seemed like the perfect lady – refined, quiet, beautiful. She didn't seem like an archer.

Lady Kiria laughed at my face. "Oh, yes, I'm being perfectly serious," she assured me. "Tinúviel is just as good as any of the archers the King brings with him. She's always preferred archery; it was only when she started growing up and going into society that she placed it aside."

"Um . . . I see . . . sort of," I said lamely.

"And Estel . . . Well, I think you know what kind of girl Estel is."

I nodded, relieved we were back to easier footing. Yes, I could easily see Estel as a warrior girl. After all, she had fought in Helm's Deep and she carried her own weapons. She wasn't as . . . refined as her sister. No, that wasn't quite right. . . She was refined. She knew how to act, how to speak, how to dance and so on. She just didn't act like it all the time. Nor was she as serious as her brother. She was too light-hearted. Life seemed to come easily to her. She laughed easily, befriended easily, lived easily. She was pretty in all the right ways – graceful, ethereal, intelligent. And despite her obvious ability to defend herself, she carried an almost . . . innocent, naive, curious aura that just made people gravitate towards her, either finding in her a sympathetic friend or wanting to protect her.

I knew which I found her to be.

"Yes, I know," I said after a moment. "But what does this all have to do with me?"

Lady Kiria smiled slowly. "Well . . . Aren't you going off to battle with the rest of them as well?"

I thought about it. I really did.

On one hand, it was something I was dying to do. I had been dying to do it for so long I'd forgotten when the urge had begun. I _wanted_ to do battle, to know for myself how good I was, to know for myself that I wasn't simply a damsel in distress that others had to rescue. I wanted to prove it to myself.

On the other hand . . . I had a responsibility to my uncle. Rohan needed a ruler. And my uncle had done me the very great honor of entrusting me with the task of defending Edoras while he was away and until he returned. If I left, I would probably never get this kind of chance ever again, especially as I had a brother.

Going to battle versus following my responsibility.

The choice, after this discussion, was almost all too easy to make.

"I'm going," I answered abruptly.

Lady Kiria smiled, almost approvingly now. It was like she _wanted_ me to go.

That made me pause.

I had just realized that I actually didn't know her that well. I had spoken to Estel a great deal on the way to Helm's Deep, and to Eldarion. But not to Lady Kiria; in fact, I had only ever seen her from a distance, the day she arrived.

"What about you?"

Her smile turned tight and secretive and she went very, very still, like a predator planning her next move. Her hand shot out, and suddenly the bow and arrow in my hands were gone. She whirled around, the bow flashing up to her ear and the arrow flashing to the bow – and then the arrow was still, quivering, in the bull's eye of a tent flag on the other side of the armory.

Even I couldn't have made that shot.

"Oh, I think I can take care of myself," Lady Kiria said casually. "You run along now, then, if you plan to go with them. They leave soon."

With that, any doubt was erased. She understood me, and she was giving me the chance to live my dream.

"Thank you," I said sincerely.

"My pleasure." She smiled again. "They say you will live out what we didn't have a chance to – the dawn of a new age. I look forward to seeing you championing that, Éowyn."

More of my uncle's words flashed in my mind as she spoke: "_You shall live to see these days renewed. No more despair._"

_And so shall you, Uncle_, I promised. _So shall you._

Then I marched over to the armory to get my armor, my weapons, and my horse.


	58. Chapter 57

**_Chapter Fifty-Seven_**

~ _Estel_ ~  
The Paths of the Dead were _scary_.

I conceded that within the first ten minutes I spent there.

But I steeled my mind and told myself to keep going. For one thing, it wasn't like I could go back now; we were too deep into this for me to run away and expect no retaliation. For another, making that decision would worry Legolas all the more – on one hand, he would want to see me safely out; but on the other, he didn't want to abandon Aragorn to whatever we would face here.

So I stayed. Besides, it wasn't like _I_ wanted to leave Legolas or abandon Aragorn either.

As we moved past piles of skulls that grinned dreadfully at us, Legolas suddenly stiffened, his eyes narrowing and body tensing.

Gimli beat me to the question. "What is it? What do you see?" he demanded.

"I see shapes of men and of horses," Legolas answered tightly.

"Where?"

"Pale banners like shreds of cloud. Spears rise like winter-thickets through a shroud of mist," Legolas continued, almost like a prophet about to deliver a dreadful verdict. "The dead are following. They have been summoned."

"The Dead? Summoned?" The tiniest bit of unease tainted his voice, but he recovered quickly. "I knew that. Very good. Very good. Legolas!"

As he spoke, strange white-green mist started circling around us. It took the shape of arms and torsos, but undefined – like long-dead souls reaching out for purgatory, but neither here nor there. And then they started reaching for us, almost as though they were grabbing at our hands and legs and, in Aragorn's case, sword.

Aragon brushed them aside with his sword, wary but confident.

Legolas backed up, almost as though waiting for them to give up, but they followed and he had no choice but to swipe them aside.

Gimli just blew at them.

Then they reached for me as though they intended to squeeze the life out of me.

Then the Elessar suddenly burned white-hot at my neck. I choked in surprise and pain, scrabbling at it, but my fingers could find no purchase on the gem and it was too hot to hold. The emerald flashed brilliantly, lighting up the entire passage for a second, and the mist retreated angrily and at once from me in a wide circle, as though the Elessar had burned it somehow.

"Estel!"

Legolas was suddenly at my side. His hand flitted to my neck as well, but the Elessar was no longer hot or glowing. It lay deceptively calm, as though nothing had happened.

"~What was that?~" he asked urgently.

I shivered. The Elessar had never done anything like that – not in my memory, and not in any of our stories.

"~I don't know,~" I answered shakily.

He must have heard the fear in my voice, for he placed his arms around me tenderly. "~It's all right,~" he soothed. "~It's gone.~"

I stayed in his arms for one quick second, holding the memory of his musical voice and the warmth of his embrace in my mind. It was precious to me. But then I pulled away. Now wasn't the time for comfort and protection.

Legolas understood; he brushed my cheek once, his eyes solemn, and then whirled away.

Just then, Aragorn said suddenly, "Do not look down."

I was just looking at him in surprise when there was a sickening _snap_ under my feet and the ground gave me. With a surprised scream, I nearly fell, unable to find my balance or regain my footing. My mind was a blur of confusion; I couldn't figure out what was wrong or what do to.

And then the ride came to a sudden halt as arms swept me up.

I looked up to see Legolas holding me close to him, his eyes filled with fear as he gazed at me.

"~I'm fine,~" I told him.

His tight expression eased somewhat. "~What happened?~"

Against Aragorn's advice, I looked down, seeking an answer for the both of us. And then I blanched.

Skulls.

Thousands of them.

"~I – I must have slipped on one,~" I said, and now my voice was no longer calm.

His lips twitched, as though he was about to smile, and his shoulders relaxed. He shifted me to better hold me against me. "~Perhaps I shouldn't let you down until we reach solid ground. You seem to have a great deal of accidents when not on it, Estel.~"

I stuck my tongue out at him, but I didn't object. For now, the safety of his embrace seemed better than risking my neck again.

~ _Legolas_ ~  
I set Estel down gently when we reached a huge cavern, almost like an underground hall. It was solid ground now, and if it came to a fight, I couldn't be holding her.

I was surprised that she hadn't objected to my carrying her. But perhaps the two incidents there had scared her more than I thought. It wouldn't surprise me that they had; for all I knew, the Elessar had never flared up like that, and slipping and sliding on the skulls of dead people wasn't exactly the most fun experience.

Still, I kept a careful eye on her now.

"Who enters my domain?"

Estel jumped at my side as a raspy, arrogant, creepy voice echoed across the cavern. I drew my bow, just in case.

A ghost appeared as the echoes died away, white-green like the mist that had come upon us. He was dressed in the most bizarre assortment of old royal styles and patchwork armor. Even worse was the fact that some of it was eaten or rotted away, baring sections of bone.

To his credit, Aragorn held his ground. "One who will have your allegiance."

"The dead do not suffer the living to pass," the king said, his voice buzzing like a pack of angry bees.

"You will suffer me," Aragorn declared.

The king threw his head back – and laughed. As the echoes of that awful laughter spread all over the cavern, it seemed wherever the sound traveled more mist appeared. The mist outlined a marvelous city, complete with terraces and barracks and towers and everything else. And from the city poured thousands and thousands of dead soldiers, whose appearances were very similar to the king – well, minus the royal attire.

Done laughing, the king rasped, "The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead. And the dead keep it. The way is shut." He paused. "Now you must die."

He – or it – approached Aragorn, baring an ancient sword. Within seconds, my bow was up and my arrow was flying in warning . . . but it passed right through the king's eye and clattered to the floor in the distance.

"I summon you to fulfill your oath," Aragorn said.

The pack of angry bees became an angry screech of warning parent birds. "None but the King of Gondor may command me!"

Then the ghost swung at Aragorn.

And missed.

Aragorn had parried the blow with the Sword of Elendil.

In a spectacular move, he whirled the swords around – sending the ghost's sword to the ground – and reached out to seize the king's throat.

"That line was broken!" the ghost screeched.

"It has been remade," Aragorn hissed, but not in anger. In triumph.

He shoved back the ghost king, who fell back as the soldiers shifted, surveying the scene in front of them.

"Fight for us, and regain your honor. What say you?" Aragorn called.

The dead didn't answer.

"What say you?" Aragorn repeated more loudly, surveying the soldiers. He even walked among them, but they parted before his sword with hardly a word, the mist hissing like whispers among the trees wherever he walked.

"You waste your time, Aragorn!" Gimli said. "They had no honor in life; they have none now in death."

The ghost seemed enraged. "Honor?" he rasped in rage. "What say you of honor when you bring _that_ to the Paths of the Dead?"

The ghost was pointing at Estel.

~ _Estel_ ~  
I stepped back.

The ghosts swirled around me, the whispers of mist angry now. The ghost king approached me, slowly, one step at a time, teeth bared in an awful leer of a smile.

"You!" the ghost seethed. "You dare bring that – that witchcraft in here!"

My fingers leaped automatically to the Elessar.

"It is no witchcraft!" I retorted. "This is the Elessar, the symbol of the line of the Kings of Gondor and Arnor! If anyone is to declare at witchcraft, it should be you!"

The ghost screeched, and I released the Elessar to clutch frantically at my ears. Perhaps I had pushed it a tad too far. . .

"Our enslavement is bound to that!" it screamed in rage-filled fury. If it was still alive, I guessed it would be foaming at the mouth and red in the eyes now with rage. "Abomination! Witch! Half-breed! Kill her!"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Legolas spring forward – but it was already too late.

The ghosts surged forward, the mist covering more ground than even Elven speed could. Within seconds, they were on me, around me, against me. I couldn't bat away all of them. Something shoved at me, and I slammed into the ground so hard I was lucky nothing broke and that I wasn't knocked unconscious. But still the ghosts swirled around me, and already cold was creeping into me.

Not normal cold, the kind you could chase away with warm fires and heavy blankets.

This was the cold of the dead, the kind that crept into your joints and paralyzed you until you lay helpless at its mercy.

The cold reached my heart, and without thinking I screamed.

And the Elessar burned.

~ _Aragorn_ ~  
When Estel screamed, I saw how it impacted Legolas. The Elf went wild in his attempts to reach her, disregarding any notion of self-preservation. He was willing to die for her; I could see that now. He would do anything to save her.

Luckily, he didn't have to.

Emerald light suddenly blasted out, shining around the ghosts. It illuminated her entire figure – every strand of her long hair, every curve of her clothes, every line of her skin. The light seemed purer than the last time it had lit up, and also far more powerful. When it fell across me, strength seemed to rush into my veins and my mind seemed to clear.

It had quite a different effect on the ghosts.

They screeched, almost like in pain, and scattered as the light fell upon them. Even the ghost king fell back, screeching in horror right along with the rest.

Within seconds, Estel was free from the ghosts.

The light dimmed slowly, but the gem remained bright, as though ready to protect her again if need me.

At once, Legolas was by her side, his arms around her in an instant.

She, in return, immediately buried her face in his chest, her fingers curling into his shirt as though she never wanted to let go of him. Her shoulders shook, but quietly; she wasn't crying, just terrified.

But she wasn't hurt – Legolas would have gone crazy if she was.

I decided to capitalize on the ghosts' fear of her. After all, I had the Elessar too.

"I am Isildur's heir," I announced loudly, letting the ghosts know for certain who was who. "Fight for me and I will hold your oaths fulfilled! What say you?"

The ghost king smirked and started to laugh. This time, instead of the city appearing, it vanished, as did all of the ghosts.

Desperate, I shouted, "You have my word! Fight, and I will release you from this living death! What say you?"

"Stand, you traitors!" I heard Gimli roar.

The ground shook ominously.

I whirled to the doorway – and to my horror, millions of skulls were rolling out of it.

_They want to kill us, to break the line of Isildur._

With that thought, I shouted, "Out!"

We ran, dodging skulls and trying our best not to be swept away by them. It was harder, for the skulls were slippery and round, able to neatly dislodge out footing or whack us hard and momentarily daze us. However, eventually, we made it to the nearest tunnel and found ourselves outside.

Black ships sailed on the river.

I fell to my knees, despair taking over me. Even all together, we couldn't take all of those ships down.

There was the strangest sound behind me, like whispers between the trees, and I rose and turned.

The king of the dead had appeared from the wall.

Estel flinched and recoiled from the king, fear flickering in her grey-blue eyes. Legolas slipped to her side, planting himself in front of her with warning flashing in his blue eyes. Gimli hefted his axe threateningly.

The ghost ignored all of it, coming to stand right in front of me.

"We fight."


	59. Chapter 58

**_Chapter Fifty-Eight_**  
(everything is spoken in Elvish)

~ _Legolas_ ~  
I slipped my arms around Estel's waist from behind, smiling as she jumped.

"Legolas! Don't do that," she scolded.

I laughed, pulling her closer. "Why not? I'm the only one who will do this to you, and I hope you know that."

She grumbled, but it was quiet and didn't have any force behind it. I felt her relax to lean against me, trusting her safety to me. For me, it was still a bit of a heady feeling – to feel and see her trust me so much after all her years of enslavement. Not that I really dwelt upon it too much, of course, for thinking of her captors always made me angry.

I had been looking for her for a while now when I had peeked into her quarters to make sure she was fine and realized she wasn't even there.

I hadn't been too concerned for her; there weren't many places she could go, after all. Unless she fancied a swim – but one of us would have heard it and I knew she wouldn't have wanted to swim in this dirty river.

Finally, I had spotted her standing at the prow of the ship. The wind was strong here, driving away the musty smell of the ghosts and replacing it with the cool, salty scent of the sea. Thus, I could understand why she liked it.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" I asked her.

"I'm too excited."

I frowned. "Is it the ghosts that bother you?" I asked shrewdly.

She didn't answer; instead, she shivered lightly in my arms. Concerned, I pulled her closer, even though I knew her shivering wasn't because she was cold or some reason like that. She went along with me, even turning to press her face into my shoulder.

"Yes," she whispered.

I stroked her hair. "They won't hurt you."

But even my words sounded empty, and I knew that they would offer little comfort. Estel hadn't yet told me what had happened when the ghosts had surrounded her, but the memory stood out vividly in my mind of how she had screamed. And, besides, I knew it took a great deal to scare her so much.

"I know. But I can't . . . after what happened, I can't . . . I don't know." She sniffled. "I feel like such a coward, Legolas. I can't even deal with some measly ghosts."

Alarmed, I grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look me in the eye. "You aren't a coward, Estel," I said slowly and seriously.

"But I – "

I shook her – gently, but enough to get my point across. She fell silent.

"Estel, _listen to me_. I have lived a great deal longer than you. I have seen a great deal more than you. And I can tell you right now that I have met many cowards, and you aren't close to the bravest one. Not even in a million years could you ever be considered a coward, _meleth_. Or have you forgotten what you endured before we met? No 'coward' could have endured that and still be as you are today. No one, Estel, no one. Do you hear me?"

She didn't answer.

I sighed. "Estel . . . anyone would have done as you did when the ghosts overwhelmed you. Anyone."

"You didn't," she shot back. "Aragorn didn't. Gimli didn't."

"Were we attacked and overwhelmed by them?" I demanded. "No, we weren't."

"But . . ."

"Do you think I lie to you?"

A brief smile flashed across her face. "No."

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Do you trust my advice to you?"

Her smile grew wider. "Sometimes."

I sighed, but I couldn't help smiling either at her teasing response. "Estel. . ."

A laugh greeted my sigh – exactly what I had been looking for. She relaxed slightly in my arms, partly because she felt more relaxed and partly because she trusted me to protect her. I wasn't sure which I was happier about.

"What did you really want to say to me?" Estel asked, looking at me.

"What do you mean?"

She rolled her eyes. "Come on, Legolas. You didn't just saunter over here for no reason at all."

"How about the fact that I was worried about you?" I pointed out innocently.

She sighed. "Spit it out."

"The truth?" I tightened my arms around her. "Estel, I will _never_ think of you as a coward. Never. This ghost business scared all of us."

"You weren't scared," she contradicted me.

"I'm not easy to read," I corrected her gently. "I _was_ scared then, Estel. I thought I would lose you. And that is a great deal scarier to me than any ghost. If I lost you. . ." I shook my head slowly. "I can barely even wrap my mind around that concept. If I lost you . . . I don't know what I'd be living for anymore."

~ _Estel_ ~  
Legolas's words surprised me. A lot.

I loved Legolas, and I knew he loved me back. But I hadn't realized just how deeply he loved me. The depth of his attachment to me compared to mine to him was like comparing an ocean to a shallow pool left by rain in a muddy pit.

I should have realized it earlier, though. Legolas was nearly three thousand years old. He had seen a great deal and met a lot of people. His declaration of loving me was more binding, more powerful, and more sincere as a result, because he had three thousand years of pent-up affection to spend on me. And as an Elf, he would have all of forever to continue loving me, regardless of what I did, where I went, and . . . and if I died.

No, not _if_ I died. _When_ I died.

Now, more than ever, I felt like a child compared to him.

A shiver ran up my spine as I considered his last words: "_If I lost you . . . I don't know what I'd be living for anymore._"

Unconsciously, I felt my grip on him tighten. "Don't say that," I whispered.

He looked down at me with concern. "What is it?" Without waiting for my answer, he said abruptly, "Let's get below. It's too cold here."

I let him lead me back to my room, and when I curled on the bed under the blankets, he slipped in behind me, gently placing his arm over my waist. It wasn't natural instinct for him, I knew; it was a conscious effort to comfort me. For that, I was even more thankful.

"Now," he said softly, "what was that about?"

"Don't say that ever again."

Confusion creased his eyebrows as he tilted his head. "Say what?" Then understanding dawned and he sighed. "You wanted the truth," he reminded me.

"Not _that_ kind of truth," I protested.

His eyes turned unreadable. "It's the same kind of truth others like us have felt," he said simply.

I couldn't argue against that. Lúthien and Beren, Idril and Tuor, _Tinúviel and Haldir, Arwen and Aragorn – they had all felt the same way too. All of them weren't ready or willing to consider the possibility of living without the other. _Lúthien had even crossed to the Halls of Mandos to beg the return of Beren after his death.

"You're worrying," Legolas stated gently.

"You just told me you don't plan to live when I'm not here. Yes, I'm worried!"

He smiled sadly. "Would you not do the same for me?"

"That's different," I objected. "Mortals were _meant_ to die. You're one of the Eldar. You're immortal."

"So was Lúthien."

I groaned and rolled away, facing the wall instead of him in frustration. He was making this ridiculously difficult. My sister's words rang suddenly and frightening truthful in my ears: "_No, you don't, little sister. Not until you've felt it._"

I didn't want to let Legolas go.

But if I had to . . . if was the only way to let him live . . . I would.

And I would just have to try and live with the pain that would cause. Even just by _considering_ it, here and now with Legolas beside me and his arms holding me, a hole was opening in my heart – the sliver of a ghost of a hole, and yet it was more painful than any wound I had ever suffered in my entire and rather short life. I couldn't imagine what it would feel like at full force.

Distracted as I was, I didn't feel the pressure until it was too late.

"What is the point of living if all you love is gone?" Legolas asked simply, looking down at me from where he had made me lie on my back.

I looked away. Yet _another_ statement I couldn't refute.

He chuckled gently, lying back down and pulling me close to him again. "Estel, calm yourself," he said gently. "I'm not going to go off and kill myself the second you die. But . . . I think it is reasonable . . . to ask that you be careful. You're a lot more breakable than me, you know."

"Legolas!"

"Yes?" he asked innocently.

I groaned. "You're terrible," I complained lightly.

A flash of bittersweet yet teasing love crossed his eyes. He leaned forward to kiss my forehead, so lightly I barely felt it. "Ah, the things I do for love," he murmured.

"I'm _not_ that breakable."

"Hmm. But compared to me . . ."

"Oh, hush. I want to sleep."

"So sleep," he said simply.

I sighed, but I pressed my face against his chest as I closed my eyes. I wanted to fall asleep with him being the only thing on my mind. I didn't want a nightmare about battle or ghosts or my past. I wanted a simple daydream, and he was the easiest character in it. Even as I fell asleep, I knew I was going to succeed. It was his arms around me, his musical laughter, his warm teasing – that was what I was thinking as I drifted off.

When I was basically one step away from sleep, a cool hand brushed at my hair as soft lips pressed against my own.

"Sleep, _meleth_," Legolas murmured in my ear, his musical voice soft yet thrumming with affection. "I will see to it that nothing bothers you."

I believed him.

And I slept.

* * *

meleth = my love


	60. Chapter 59

I understand that the ending of Chapter 58 does remind some people of Twilight. Unfortunately, a lot of different series end up influencing my fanfictions, and so sometimes unexpected similarities pop up. This happened to be one of them.

On another unrelated note, school year is getting into full gear and unfortunately I have to announce that from now on, excepting the midterm marathon and final finale (assuming "My Fairytale isn't done by then), updates will be only once a week unless I have the time and inclination to write for twice a week. So . . . my apologies to all readers, but as of right now, I'm afraid I have no choice.

Now - on with the promised Chapter 59!

* * *

**_Chapter Fifty-Nine_**

~ _Aragorn _~  
The ships slowed to the faintest halt, so much so that I barely felt it.

Barely.

But I didn't have time to dwell on it. At once, a shout rose from the docks, gravelly and deformed, like the Orc who must have spoken.

"Late, as usual! Pirate scum! There's work that needs doing."

Next to me, I saw Gimli tighten his grip on his axe, his eyes bright with anticipation for the upcoming battle. Behind me, Legolas's fingers curled around his bow, betraying the tension he sought to hide when he placed a soothing hand on Estel's. His eyes were filled with concern and comfort, antidotes to the fear and anxiety her grey-blue eyes displayed so easily. But his presence seemed to help, for she relaxed somewhat.

Something more had passed between them; I could tell. But what . . . that was a mystery.

But it seemed to help build the trust between them, so I was fine with whatever it happened to be.

Another shout rang out. "Come on, ya sea rats! Get out off your ships!"

Legolas's eyes flashed to me. I gave the tiniest nod.

We all leaped out, propelling ourselves over the side with as much force as we could and landing as best as we could. Gimli hefted his axe. Legolas notched an arrow. Estel drew her sword. And I raised the Sword of Elendil.

The Orcs weren't intimidated. Surprised, yes. Intimated? No.

Well, not yet.

Of course, Gimli went straight from anticipation mode to competition mode. "There are plenty for both of us," he exclaimed gleefully, shooting sideways glances at Legolas. "May the best dwarf win!"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Estel roll her eyes.

Then we charged.

For the first . . . perhaps two seconds the Orcs stood their ground, grinning stupidly and raising their weapons, waiting for us to reach them.

Then the dead appeared.

By the time they noticed the army behind us, however, it was far too late for them to flee, slice us, or do anything remotely useful. One second they were grinning stupidly and the next they were screaming in terror. So, things were even easier than usual. We sliced through their ranks like a sword moves through a leaf.

~ _Estel_ ~  
I slammed my hilt into an Orc and backhanded another, slicing off the head of the first and continuing the blow to cut across the torso of the other. I didn't stop at that, though. I couldn't. I had to keep going, even though I was already beginning to tire. Sword work required a _lot_ more energy than archery.

However, that didn't mean I couldn't be distracted.

"Legolas!"

When I heard his name, called in desperation and warning, I whirled around in fear.

A Mûmakil was running at him.

"Legolas, look out!" I screamed, fear stilling my heart with a coldness that surpassed even that of the ghosts. Legolas was immortal, but that did not mean he couldn't fall in battle. That would just make the separation a lot more permanent than if I died.

But Legolas ignored both shouts.

Instead of running away, as I had expected him to do, he actually ran _towards_ the thing.

"Legolas, what are you doing?" I shouted.

My question was answered moments later when, with the dexterity only an Elf could display, he leaped upwards and began _climbing_ the Mûmakil, using the ineffective arrows that had lodged into the beast's legs as handholds. Within seconds, he had made his way to the top and was picking off the riders one by one.

"Estel!"

Aragorn's shout brought me back to full awareness, and it was then that I realized I was just standing there staring at Legolas and not paying any attention to the battle itself.

Chagrined, I returned my attention to the battle. I could do more about my survival by fighting than by standing and fearing for Legolas. He would just have to take care of himself. Besides, there wasn't much I could do for him anyways if something went wrong.

By the time I had cleared a large enough area around me to safely look back, I only had time to hear a deafening death cry.

The Mûmakil had fallen.

As it fell, Legolas leapt nimbly on to the trunk and deftly slid down it, landing without so much as a bump in front of the dead beast.

I ran at him, scared and relieved. He returned my embrace gently, but with a slightly dismissive air. I knew it was his gentle way of telling me that there was nothing to fear and that he was fine.

"It still only counts as one!" I hear Gimli growl behind us.

Legolas smirked at him, and the Dwarf lumbered off, displeased.

"He won at Helm's Deep; I should have the win here," Legolas murmured quietly in my ear. Then I felt him frown with concern and surprise as he looked down at me. "Are you still scared, _meleth_?"

I tightened my grip. "I thought I was going to lose you," I whispered fearfully.

"I won't _ever_ leave you," he swore softly. "And especially not like that."

I could sense the swell of emotion in his voice as he spoke his promise, and I knew that that was more proof to its binding quality than anything. Elves prided themselves on being as impassive as possible due to their longer life span, so a show of emotion – especially to one not of their race – was more binding than if Legolas has promised in with an unbreakable oath.

Well, okay, maybe an oath would have been better.

But I had no way of doing that so this was right now more than enough for me.

Legolas brushed his lips against my forehead. "Come, _meleth_; the battle is over. Let us find Aragorn and Gimli and the others, shall we? I daresay that we will be in need of your healing talents."

The thought of how many who would not be as lucky as Legolas and me in escaping the battle unscathed sobered me. Legolas could wait. He was safe, unlike many others. And he was right; my talents in healing would be needed. We had a great deal more warriors than healers right now, after all, so each and every one of us would be needed to treat the wounded.

I released him. "You're right," I murmured miserably.

His lips twitched into a smile, and he reached out to touch my cheek. "I won't leave you, remember?" he teased gently. "You shall see me when this is over."

~ _Legolas_ ~  
It took us a while to find Aragorn. For one thing, the Mûmakil had carried me a bit far from the main part of the battle. And with all the smoke clouding the fields, it was hard to see. Besides, it wasn't like we could ask for directions; everyone else was too concerned with tending to the wounded for that.

But finally we found Aragorn in front of Minas Tirith. Gimli and Mithrandir had already beaten us there, but when I realized what was going on, I was glad we hadn't beaten them.

The army of the dead stood before Aragorn.

Estel shivered by my side and drew back. I came to a halt beside Mithrandir, frowning at the dead. Very deliberately, I placed my arm around her waist and drew her closer to me.

"Release us," the dead king rasped, his voice still echoing despite the fact that we were no longer in the caves.

Aragorn didn't reply at once.

"Bad idea," Gimli said suddenly. "Very handy in a tight spot, these lads, despite the fact they're dead."

The king hissed angrily. "You gave us your word!"

Aragorn finally made up his mind. He raised a hand gently. "I hold your oath fulfilled. Go, be at peace."

And . . . nothing happened.

I frowned. I had expected the dead to leave us and dissipate to a final death in the void. Aragorn had given them his blessing and had held their oath fulfilled, so why did they not leave? I didn't think it was because they wanted to continue serving us.

"You betrayed us!" the dead king screeched suddenly.

Suddenly, the Elessar gleamed again, flashing with the same powerful emerald light as it had twice before. My arm was pushed away from Estel, and I stumbled back. She, meanwhile, stepped to Aragorn's side, a strange and almost prophetic daze on her face, as though something inside her was responsible and she was only vaguely certain of what she was doing at this moment, and why.

"His Majesty, King Elessar, has not betrayed you," she said, her voice echoing almost as the dead king's did. But the echo didn't rasp against my ears as the king's did; hers glided effortlessly, like a bird soaring.

For the first time, fear entered the dead expression.

"What are you?" he hissed.

The Elessar flickered as he spoke, shining even more brilliantly, so that Estel seemed to be outlined in gleaming green light.

"I am Estel Elessariel, Queen of Gondor, Arnor, and Rohan," she said, her eyes glittering with the same strange light as the Elessar. "_I_ am the last heir of Isildur. And by the spell of Isildur that bound you to the Elessar, I hold your oath fulfilled and I release you. Go."

Whispers sailed through the crowd of dead ghosts, like the whispers of the spirits among the trees.

But they did not confer for long.

The Elessar gleamed one last time and for a second as the emerald light fell upon them, I thought I could see them as they had used to be at the height of their glory, power, and youth.

Then the ghost king bowed his head to her, his gaze almost respectful.

A sigh drifted through the army, and as it passed, the ghosts dissipated into a strange wind that smelled almost sweet.

The Elessar's light shut off suddenly, and Estel collapsed.


	61. Chapter 60

**_Chapter Sixty_**

~ _Eldarion_ ~  
I knelt beside the body of the Man who had just saved my life, filled with remorse and guilt.

The battle was over now, of course, but I had been tending to one of the groups that had managed to escape the raging army of ghosts that were even now pouring into Minas Tirith, sweeping down any Orc unfortunate enough to have been caught in their path. Few had escaped; the dead were very good at their job. There had been little work left for the rest of us, save to make sure the Orcs really were dead and to search for our own and tend to our injured.

I had just finished off the last fleeing Orc when I had seen a flicker of motion at the edge of my eye and had whirled around just in time to see an injured, mutilated Orc command rise from the nearby pile of dead.

Before I could react, a crossbow bolt had flown at me, quicker than the eye or wind.

Then I heard a shout of rage and Boromir had appeared, jumping at the commander with a snarl on his face and his sword held high.

The bolt hit me then.

Luckily, it left behind only a scratch; the bolt had gone wide and if I had seen it a second earlier and jumped, I would have escaped it completely.

As it was, though, it added just enough force to my already off-balance stance, and I toppled ingloriously into the dirt, frantically rolling away from my sword so as not to plunge the blade into my own heart or arm or leg.

When I rolled to a stop, a foot slammed into my ribcage and knocked the wind out of me.

I heard the wheezing sound of the Orc, and I looked up through watering eyes to see it standing over me, another bolt knocked, slowly taking aim. The slowness was in part due to drawing out the agony as it was to the fresh slash to the creature's arms; it was deep and had to be taking its toll on the thing's ability to hold the crossbow.

Something grabbed the creature at the last minute; it fired reflexively as it whirled around.

There was a strangled gasp, the sound of knees in the dust.

Boromir had taken the arrow.

With an enraged shout, I pushed myself off the ground with unnecessary force and pain rippled through from my bruises. I flew at the Orc with all the speed I could muster, but it was already not enough, for another arrow suddenly flew out to bury itself in Boromir's chest.

I thrust my sword into the creature from behind, and it gave a gargling snarl as it died. I hacked it apart with savage force, determined that it remain dead this time.

I crawled around its corpse to his side, for the many arrows had finally taken their toll this time.

Boromir Denethorion was dying.

As soon as my fingers curled around the shaft of one of the arrows, Boromir's eyes fluttered open, filled with agonizing pain, and his hand shot up to clench mine in a steel grip.

"No," he croaked out.

"There's no other way I can save you," I said desperately. "Let me do it, Boromir; we can heal you! I know we can!"

"No," he repeated.

"Boromir – "

His grip on my hand tightened, and he stared at me with a feverish determination. "Tell her I'm sorry. For everything. Tell your sister I am sorry."

I stared at him. My brain couldn't comprehend what he was talking about. It had to be something big, something that meant something, for he knew he was dying and I could tell by his eyes that this wasn't some pain-induced hallucination gained moments before death as the soul passed into the Halls of Mandos.

But if it would lift his burden, I was willing to promise anything.

"Promise!" he insisted.

"I swear it. I'll tell her."

He relaxed, a sigh escaping his lips. "Then," he murmured, his voice dazed, "it is done."

"Boromir – "

"Let me see Minas Tirith . . . one . . . last . . . time."

I fought back tears as I carefully moved around him so that his view of the gleaming Tower of the Guard, of the City of Kings, of his beloved Minas Tirith was unobstructed. The white city, glowing in the sunlight, was the sight that filled his eyes as I heard his last breath seep out past his lips and as his eyes, content and clear, finally dimmed.

I had never really been good friends with Boromir.

His attempt to steal the Ring, along with whatever wrong he had dealt my sister and his insults to Aragorn in Imladris – they had all convinced me that Boromir was a typical Man swayed by the power of the Ring. I had had little, if any, true respect for him because of that.

But now I was seeing just how wrong I'd been. I shouldn't have been biased against Boromir because of what he had done and what I knew his father, mad with grief, had done. Men had been given the right to choose their destiny by Ilúvatar for that reason; it was a chance to redeem ourselves in our short lifetime, a chance to make mistakes and learn, a chance to prove that we were worthy of the title as the one of the Children of Ilúvatar.

Boromir had taken that chance and did the best he could with it.

And I would be forever grateful to him for that.

~ _Aragorn_ ~  
I found Eldarion kneeling by the prone body of Boromir. As I watched, he reached up and reverently closed the Man's eyes and placed his sword hilt into his fist on his chest.

"Eldarion," I murmured.

He lifted his face towards me, his eyes filled with sadness. "He died to save my life," he said without preamble.

A flicker of shock rose in me. Boromir had befriended the Rohirrim and had fought alongside Eldarion – but that didn't mean he and Eldarion had particularly liked each other. Eldarion had been wary and suspicious of Boromir due to his incidents with Frodo and the Ring, and Boromir had been unsure how to mend that gap between them.

And yet Boromir had shown his most selfless side not once, but twice now. He had faced death to protect Merry and Pippin. Now he had died saving Eldarion.

Eldarion, the heir to the throne of Gondor, of Isildur's line, of _me_.

The heir he had so vehemently denied Gondor even had, much less needed, at the Council of Elrond.

I slowly knelt besides Eldarion, closing my eyes and bowing my head. Then I reached forward, and, as was proper, gave a grave farewell kiss to Boromir's forehead as the King should to a warrior who has fallen in battle and in service to the King and the King's house.

"Rest in peace," I said, "Boromir Denethorion, son of Gondor."

"And rest redeemed," Eldarion added suddenly.

After a momentary pause, I decided not to say anything. The words seemed appropriate, given what Boromir had done.

Finally, I rose. "Come, Eldarion," I said gently.

After one last look at the body of his savior, Eldarion did rise.

"He was a true Man of Gondor," he murmured. "He wanted to die with Minas Tirith being the last thing he saw in this life."

I inclined my head in agreement. "And he will be given a funeral that befits a Man of Gondor, and the Steward's son at that."

"Thank you, Aragorn." He glanced around the battlefield, seeming to return back to the realm of the living on this side of the sea. "How is everyone? Anyone hurt?"

"I don't know. I've seen Legolas, Estel, Gimli, Mithrandir, and now you."

I left out the unspoken implication that all were well, for Estel was definitely not. But I didn't want Eldarion panicking just yet. Estel might have been resting to recover the energy she had lost during the battle, or perhaps the power of the Elessar had overwhelmed her and now she needed rest to deal with that power. It had drained her severely last time as well, after all.

Yes, no need to worry him.

He would find out soon enough.

"And Tinúviel?"

"Not yet, I fear."

When his look transformed into worry, I clapsed his shoulder. "I'm sure she's fine. Her archery far dwarfs yours and mine."

"I – "

Eldarion was interrupted by an agonized scream of denial, pain, and horror. We both whirled around, hands flashing to our swords – but there was nothing to fight. Frantically, we scanned the horizon, looking for Orcs or Mûmakils or anything else that could possibly threaten us.

There was nothing.

Nothing, except the glint of long blonde hair of the figure that Éomer cradled in his arms.

Éowyn.

~ _Éomer _~  
"Out of the way, out of the way!" a voice said impatiently, brushing past the frozen figures crowded around me. I saw Eldarion and the lady Tinúviel yielded at once to the person, their expression fading into respect, but others parted more reluctantly.

When the woman finally got to my side, I saw that she was the Lady Kiria, the mother of Eldarion, Tinúviel, and Estel.

"Éomer, hold her still," she ordered. Without waiting to see whether or not I did, she closed her eyes and placed her hand on my sister's forehead.

I looked sadly at my sister, wishing with all my might that she had done as my uncle had ordered and stayed behind. I knew I had already lost my uncle; I didn't need to lose my sister as well. It would spell the end of my line if something ever happened to one of my heirs, for now there would be no nephew that would be able to take the throne in the worst case scenario.

And yet I had lost her.

I fiercely reprimanded myself. I should have checked the lines more often to ensure that she would not have been given the chance to sneak into the army.

Lady Kiria's eyes flickered open.

"She's alive," she said. "She's alive! Get her into the houses of healing, immediately."

I stared at her, stunned. My sister was . . . alive?

"Go!" she commanded, and her voice snapped like a whip.

Without even thinking about it, I shot to my feet and started walking as quickly as I could towards the gates of Minas Tirith. I didn't even know where the houses of healing were, but if they could save Éowyn. . .

When I passed through the gates, though, I halted in surprise when I saw dark locks of hair against the greenish clothes of Legolas.

And then I realized what it was.

Estel.

Her face was as pale as Éowyn's, even though she had no physical wounds that I could see.

Shaken to the depths of my very soul, I continued forward and prayed silently to whatever gods there might be out there that, somehow, someway, by some miracle, Éowyn and Estel would come out alive.


	62. Chapter 61

**_Chapter Sixty-One_**

~ _Tinúviel _~  
I walked slowly through the houses of healing, careful not to trip on anyone or bump into any of the healers rushing around.

Elladan and Elrohir were among the healers, as was Aragorn and some of the other Dúnedain who knew of the healing arts. My mother was also involved, splitting her attention between helping Mithrandir and the city council as well as seeing to it that the people of Minas Tirith were given the food and supplies they needed. Eldarion was seeing to all of the warriors, helping to calm them from the terrors of the battle, making sure each was treated for his wounds, and seeing to the horses. With all of their duties, I was finding they were forgetting to eat sometimes, so I had taken it upon myself to help restore the kitchens and then ensure that all of my family got the food they needed.

But it wasn't just my family I was seeing to.

Finally, I saw the two people I was looking for and veered towards them. I carefully set the tray down besides Éomer, who had not budged from his vigil over his sister ever since she had been moved here.

I sat beside him. "Lord Éomer," I said gently.

He started, looking at me with eyes that were full of exhaustion and fear.

I placed my hand on his. "Lord Éomer, you must eat. You'll be no help to anyone, especially your sister, if you allow yourself to starve to death."

"Help Éowyn first," he told me. His voice was scratchy and raw, from disuse and grief. "Please."

I sighed. I was not as good a healer as Aragorn or my sister, but I knew the basics. And if that was what it would take to get Éomer to eat, so be it. I could at least determine what was wrong and have the necessary supplies for when Aragorn or one of the sons of Elrond managed to see to her and actually heal her.

Sweeping back the light skirt of my dress, I fervently thanked my mother for insisting that I wear the coarse yet durable riding dresses.

I placed my hand on Éowyn's forehead and was startled by how cold she was. I focused on her aura, disturbed, and the coldness seeped into me as well. _Of course. The Witch-King of Angmar._ His poisons had sunk their claws into Éowyn, and it would take a skilled healer to draw them out.

That, and _athelas__._

_ I had opened my eyes and was just rising when a voice said, "Lady _Tinúviel."

I turned with relief to find Aragorn there. "My lord Aragorn. She suffers greatly. The Witch-King dealt her a terrible blow."

He knelt beside Éowyn, frowning. "Yes, so I see," he murmured. He looked up at me once, and I nodded.

"I'll get some," I assured him.

When I returned a few minutes later, Aragorn was very gently dabbing water on to Éowyn's injured arm and on her forehead. He took the _athelas_ gratefully, and the bowl of water I had also brought along.

When I rose to leave, Éomer caught my hand.

"Yes, Lord Éomer?" I prompted.

"I . . . I thank you," he said finally.

I smiled. "It is the least I could do after the aid you and your sister have rendered. Your names will live on in history for eons to come."

I left him staring, puzzled, at me.

Éomer wasn't the only one keeping a silent and unbreakable vigil over someone who lay in a coma without any signs of life. He wasn't the only one worrying over someone. He wasn't the only one who was ignoring his own need for food and water and rest.

I had to tend to Legolas.

~ _Legolas_ ~  
"~How is she?~" Tinúviel asked quietly.

I raised my eyes from Estel's motionless figure long enough to answer, "~There has been no change.~"

Ever since Estel had collapsed on the Pelennor Fields, she hadn't awoken. And when I had cast my senses towards her, seeking the bright and vivacious aura I had come to expect from her, I had found her spirit . . . not _gone_, per say, but wandering. Lost. Drifting. The Elessar upon her neck was quiescent and deceptively innocent looking.

"~Such a thing has not happened in all of our legends,~" Tinúviel murmured, sitting on the bed by her sister.

I nodded in sad agreement. Estel had told me that before this. Only now did it sink in just how otherworldly and strange it had been for the Elessar to act up that way.

"~Has Mithrandir tried?~" she asked.

I sighed in despair. "~He's tried, Aragorn's tried, your mother's tried – they all have. It's made no difference.~"

Tinúviel's face crumbled into infinite sadness, until she looked as though she was as old as Lord Elrond himself. Estel was, after all, her little sister, and even though they were so different, they also cherished each other beyond belief. The bond between the three siblings was immensely strong.

"~What I would that Lord Elrond was here,~" she whispered. "~He would know what to do.~"

"~My father tends to my sister,~" explained a solemn voice.

We both looked up to see Elladan and Elrohir standing in the doorway, staring sadly at Estel's still and silent body.

Elladan smiled at Tinúviel gently and both twins bowed gently to her. "~Ah, Lady Tinúviel,~" he said. "~My father told me of you. We are honored to meet you, you who are gifted with beauty of our ancestress, Lúthien Tinúviel.~"

She blushed at his words. "~And I am honored to meet the renowned sons of Lord Elrond of Imladris,~" she replied, curtseying to each of them.

Elladan reached out to her. "~Nay, cousin, do not. You have no need to. We are blood kin, Tinúviel, do you not recall?~"

"~If you are quite done flattering the Lady Tinúviel,~" I interrupted, "~would you be kind enough to explain what ails your sister? I have not heard that anything was wrong with Arwen Elrondiel to the point that Lord Elrond must especially tend to her.~"

That wiped the smile from their faces.

"~Our sister fell ill shortly after refusing to go with the Elves traveling to the Grey Havens,~" Elladan said soberly.

"~And our father fears that her life has become tied to the fate of the Ring,~" Elrohir added.

Tinúviel's eyes widened. "~Oh my goodness. . . How is she?~"

The twins shared a single, grave look.

"~We can only pray that the Ring will be destroyed and she will live,~" Elladan answered sadly. "~That is about all we can do. So we came here to help in our father's stead.~" He gestured then to Estel. "~What ails her?~"

As quickly as possible, I explained about what had transpired before the gates of Minas Tirith, but I withheld the words Estel had spoken. I didn't think it was time to start discussing them, and I was sure that even if we did we would get nowhere. I knew Estel had not spoken consciously, and so there was even a chance that even she herself would not understand. Better, I thought, to wait until a more appropriate time.

The twins were quiet when I finished.

"~And she has been unconscious ever since?~" Elladan asked.

"~Nothing we have done has caused her even to stir, much less rise,~" I said sadly. The helplessness of my situation returned to haunt me, as powerfully as before. Every part of me screamed that I should act to aid my beloved, but I had no clue how to even begin.

"~What have you tried?~" Elrohir pressed.

"~We have tried healing her, and calling to her,~" I said. "~Nothing has worked. She will not even respond when Aragorn invokes the power of the King and _athelas__.~"_

Deeper frowns marred the twins' faces as they realized the true magnitude of the situation.

"~That bodes ill,~" Elladan murmured.

"Elladan? Elrohir?"

A startled voice drew our eyes to the doorway, where Aragorn had stopped dead and was currently staring at the twins as though he had never seen them in his entire life. He looked exhausted, but surprise still managed to lighten his features.

"~Well met, Aragorn,~" the twins said as one. "~Now, can you explain to us why you have not managed to call Estel back?~"

After a long and lengthy interrogation, the twins remained deep in thought. But when I saw them exchange a glance, I knew they were thinking of something. After all, their father was counted as one of the best healers on this side of the sea. Surely they had an idea of what could possibly be done – at least to try . . .

"~What is it?~"

They shared another glance, this one uneasy.

"~Have you declared your love for her and she for you?~" Elrohir asked suddenly.

I blinked. "~How . . . Never mind. Yes.~"

Relief washed through their faces even as I questioned more severely how in the name of the Valar they could have guessed, much less known.

"~Your face gave it away,~" Elladan explained absently. "~Legolas, have you tried calling her?~"

I blinked again, startled. "~No . . . Why?" I mean, I wasn't the healer; healing was not an expertise I really focused on in the past and so my experience was limited. Aragorn was by far more skilled.

"~Try to,~" Elrohir urged. "~Your love ties her to you. It is possible that Aragorn failed because only you can call her back. He has the call of the King, and of blood kin. You have the call of love. Which did you really think would be stronger, Legolas?~"

I was too desperate to really argue.

Moments later, I smoothed my fingers over Estel's forehead and closed my eyes, concentrating as hard as I could on Estel, my feelings for her, and her aura. The sweet, cleansing scent of athelas entered my system as Aragorn crushed the leaves and held them nearby, invoking the call of the King as well to aid my call to Estel and help heal her. Very gently, I called to her as I had seen Aragorn call to those he had treated. Only there was a slight difference.

"~Estel. Estel, you have slept too long. Walk no more in the shadows, but awake. The shadow is gone and all darkness is washed clean. Please, awake!~"

Then, as quietly as I could, I whispered, "~Please, meleth-nin."

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then something changed. Estel's chest suddenly heaved as her lungs expanded, and her eyelids fluttered open, slowly yet surely. For a moment, she looked about her in confusion; but then she saw me. Her blue-grey eyes focused on my rapidly watering ones, and a small, sweet smile crossed her lips as she reached a hand to touch my cheek.

"~You called me back,~" she said, her voice raw.

But to me, it was the sweetest sound I'd ever heard in my entire life.

I clasped her hand against my cheek, leaning forward to kiss her gently on the hair, forehead, and lips. Relief and affection were making my heart swell so much I began to fear that my chest would no longer be able to contain it. But that was the least of my worries, for Estel was finally awake.

"~Always,~" I told her, my own voice raw with emotion. "~I will always call you back, meleth-nin.~"

* * *

Meleth-nin = my love

A/N: If the words Legolas used to call Estel back seem familiar to anyone, I took them from how Aragorn called Faramir and Éowyn, on pages 866 and 868 of The Return of the King respectively.


	63. Chapter 62

**_Chapter Sixty-Two_**

~ _Estel _~  
"Frodo has passed beyond my sight."

Mithrandir opened the council as gravely and as bluntly as he always did. Conversation around us stilled, and I felt Legolas's arm slip around my waist in gentle support. It had been a few days since Legolas had called me and I had finally thrown off the darkness, and in that time, I had started regaining my strength and my bearings. For the first day, Legolas had watched me like a mother hawk, worrying and defending, as if he had thought something was going to suddenly pop up and fry me.

As it was, I knew others had been giving me weird looks for days until Legolas had finally told them off and that had been the end.

I didn't know what he had told them and I didn't even know why they had been giving me the weird looks, but I was still grateful that he had told them off.

"The darkness is deepening," Mithrandir explained further, his tone darkening.

That worried me somewhat. Mithrandir was a Maia; if he could not see through the darkness, how could the rest of us attempt to try and decipher what was going on?

"If Sauron had the Ring we would know it," Aragorn countered sharply.

Mithrandir swung around, but instead of the challenging glare I had expected, I only saw sadness and resignation. Whatever bothered him bothered him greatly, for I had never known him to lose hope.

His words confirmed it.

"It's only a matter of time," he said. "He has suffered a defeat, yes, but behind the walls of Mordor our enemy is regrouping."

Gimli snorted, puffing even more vigorously on his pipe. "Let him stay there. Let him rot! Why should we care?"

"Because ten thousand Orcs now stand between Frodo and Mount Doom."

The announcement stunned the whole room into silence. Despair seeped slightly in me as I reminded of how enormous this task was – and how vital it was to the future . . . to _my_ future. As if he understood, Legolas drew me closer to him. I rested my head against his shoulder, hoping for the cold of despair to leave.

"I've sent him to his death," Mithrandir murmured, his voice tortured.

"No," Aragorn said suddenly, his gaze lighting up with a solution of some sort. "There's still hope for Frodo. He needs time, and safe passage across the Plains of Gorgoroth. We can give him that."

"How?" Gimli grumbled.

"Draw out Sauron's armies. Empty his lands. Then we gather our full strength and march on the Black Gate."

Éomer stepped forward, his face revealing his wariness of Aragorn's suggestion. "We cannot achieve victory through strength of arms," he pointed out, sadness washing across his face as he recalled all those who had died when Rohan had come to the aid of Minas Tirith.

"Not for ourselves," Aragorn agreed, "but we _can_ give Frodo his chance if we keep Sauron's Eye fixed upon us." He looked directly at me, and I knew at once what he planned to do. "Keep him blind to all else that moves."

Legolas smiled, the tension lifting slightly from him. "A diversion."

"Certainty of death. Small chance of success." Gimli paused, and then exclaimed, "What are we waiting for?"

Mithrandir pulled on Aragorn's sleeve. "Sauron will suspect a trap. He will not take the bait," he warned Aragorn in a low voice.

Aragorn wasn't fazed. "Oh, I think he will," he said softly back.

"Don't do it, my lord."

Eldarion spoke suddenly from where he stood near Éomer. His face too was troubled, both my memories and by the imaginings of what the future battle would bring. But here was an element of sternness too, and pleading. The Battle of Pelennor Fields had changed my brother.

It had changed all of us.

Everyone looked at him, with varying expressions of confusion and surprise.

I merely watched Aragorn's face, seeking confirmation of his mental clash with the Eye of Sauron.

"Eldarion?" Aragorn prompted.

"Don't do it," he repeated, emphasizing each word as much as possible. "I know what you're going to do. But I know also that it will cause a greater impact then you think."

"Then that is what I will do."

Aragorn spoke gently, but firmly. He would not be swayed, even though he knew that our knowledge of the causes and effects was far greater than his own. He could merely speculate. We really actually _knew_.

I cleared my throat, stepping into the conversation before it deteriorated into a shouting match or too much was given away. What was said now was meant for Aragorn and Aragorn alone. "What my brother means, my lord, is that this action could do greater harm to you than walking right into Mordor and declaring yourself," I explained, calming my brother with a quelling look.

My brother was too passionate about and too focused on his loyalty to Aragorn than I was. But Aragorn needed to be convinced by impassionate, impersonal logic.

Aragorn looked at me. "It is the only way, Estel."

"It is the only way it has happened before," I corrected in a hard tone. "Not the only way it can."

"Does history not repeat itself?"

"It does not have to. You must _choose_ for it to."

He didn't bat an eye.

So I sighed. "We can't order you, but we can advise you, my lord," I reminded him. "We haven't let you down yet."

Aragorn smiled slightly, but the sadness in his eyes was a strong contrast. "It is not a matter of you letting me down," he reassured me gently. "It is a matter that there are some things only a King can do."

"You aren't King yet," Eldarion cut in tightly.

"Eldarion," Aragorn sighed. "Please trust me. I do not wish to invoke an order."

Eldarion stiffened and whirled away, stalking irritably out the door. I sighed and leaned against Legolas, feeling him draw me closer.

"~Your brother is angry,~" he observed.

"~He is worried,~" I said with a sigh. "~It is more than Aragorn's life at stake in this.~"

Legolas started. "~Your own?~"

I smiled slightly. Legolas had forgotten yet again that I was descended from Aragorn. It wasn't the first time, I supposed, but how he kept forgetting was beyond me. "~Have you forgotten that I am of Aragorn's bloodline?~"

I turned to Aragorn. "~Do not take undue risks, my lord,~" I warned. "~And do not forget that it is more than simply your own fate at risk here.~"

There was silence. Then –

"On that cheery thought, I guess this council is now adjourned," Mithrandir said cheerfully, striding for the door. Gimli puffed one last time on his pipe before hopping off the steward's throne and following. Aragorn met my eyes once, worry in his eyes, but I merely smiled sadly at him; now was not the time for doubt. If he doubted now, he would falter, and if he faltered, he would fail.

Legolas spoke in my ear. "~Are you hungry, _meleth_? We should probably get some lunch now.~"

I was about to answer when I spotted Éomer. He was standing to the side, a sad expression on his face.

I twisted out of Legolas's arms. "~I'll meet you there, okay?~"

He frowned slightly before his eyes followed mine. "~Be careful,~" he told me. "~I'll wait outside for you.~"

I rose on my tiptoes and kissed him gently. "~I'll be fine. Now go.~"

~ _Éomer _~  
"You seem . . . happy with him," I said reluctantly.

I had just watched how it all played out – how Legolas had wrapped his arm around her, how he had so easily displayed his concern for her, how she had kissed him on the cheek. But I knew there was more than that. I knew it had been Legolas who had called her back, just as I had called my sister back. And I had seen them riding together, especially how he had carefully helped her dismount – an action I distinctly remembered her telling me she would allow only her future husband to carry out.

So. She truly had fallen in love with Legolas.

Estel didn't blink, but there was sadness in her eyes. "Yes. And I am so sorry, Éomer. . . What I did was . . . completely irresponsible, and it is completely my fault for what happened."

Surprise filled me. "What?"

She sighed, the sound full of regret. "What I did to you, misleading you like that . . . That was completely irresponsible of me. I should never have done that to you. . . But I fear apologies will not be enough. . . I have already inflicted so much damage. . ."

Part of me wanted to agree, to lash out, to destroy her in anger. But . . . at the same time, I couldn't bear to. She truly regretted it – she wasn't lying now. And truth be told, even now as I looked back, she had never once ever told me that she cared for me that way. Never. We had never spoken of it in all the time we had spent together.

"You didn't mislead me. I fooled myself. . . I should have known. . . Well, I guess I always knew," I amended.

"You . . . What?"

"I think . . . I think, deep down, we both knew it wasn't real," I said finally.

Estel flinched, her pale, wan face growing even paler. "How can I even begin to make reparations for this?" she whispered.

Perhaps it was the hurt, guilty look in her eyes, always so expressive and honest. Perhaps it was how her face, already pale from her coma, was the palest I'd ever seen on her. But perhaps it was the sense of total self-reproach that emanated so strongly from her entire being, as though she was quite ready to throw herself into the worst punishment possible even if just to earn the opportunity to beg for forgiveness at my feet.

In any case, without thinking, I reached out and took her hands.

They were cold, ice cold.

"Estel. . . You need not worry yourself to death over this," I told her. "Truly, you need not to. I think it's time we both accepted that this is past, and that we have different paths to travel for the future."

She still wasn't convinced, I saw, so I sighed.

"Estel . . . I told you – already, deep down, we knew it wasn't going to work. I knew. I just . . . didn't want to admit it," I confessed quickly. "But . . . I think Legolas is better for you. He can understand you in ways I won't ever be able to. He makes you happy."

"_You_ made me happy," Estel argued.

"As a friend, yes," I agreed.

Estel sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I am really sorry, Éomer," she said again.

"You should be," I agreed casually. When her eyes widened, I added teasingly, "because I'm starving and you're keeping me from eating. Let's go, shall we?" Then I stretched my arm, formally, like an escort, and said, "Will her ladyship allow me the honor of escorting her to the hall?"

And Estel laughed, and took my arm, and smiled, and I knew things were all resolved.

Well . . . until she deliberately left me in charge of Lothíriel, the daughter of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth.

When she darted off, her eyes glinting with amusement as she ran to Legolas's side, I glared at her and swore revenge for making me so embarrassed and speechless in front of the Princess of Dol Amroth.

Thankfully, the princess didn't comment.

"So, Lord Éomer," she began, "I understand you've been here longer than I have. Would you care to show me around, since the Lady Estel cannot?"

* * *

A/N: Yeah . . . anyone recognize the princess? Yes, no, maybe so? Ah well. Reviews are extremely welcome! Oh, and on a side note – this story will continue past the ending displayed in The Return of the King movie, as I have some unfinished ends to clean up. Just a heads up in case anyone was confused.


	64. Chapter 63

**_Chapter Sixty-Three_**

~ _Aragorn _~  
Silently, I entered the citadel throne room where – just a few hours ago – Estel and Eldarion had warned me against the very move I was going to now make. At my side, I carried the sword of Elendil. On my face, I carried the determination born of years of watching people suffer under Sauron. And in my heart, I carried the last grain of hope for my people, for my friends . . . and for my Arwen.

In one quick movement, I unwrapped the palantír.

The Eye of Sauron, furious at being entrapped in darkness, blazed at once.

I grasped it, blinking away the sudden fear that had bloomed with the Eye's fury, and lifted it to eye level. This was going to be done on _my_ terms and my terms only. I was in charge, not Sauron, and I would not yield that advantage.

"Long have you hunted me. Long have I eluded you. No more."

I pulled the sword of Elendil up, revealing it in all of its glory, re-forged with all the skills Imladris could bring to bear.

"Behold the sword of Elendil."

The Eye hissed, recoiling in a way against the sight. This would be the confirmation the Dark Lord sought to my identity, for only the true heir of Isildur could wield this. And with the power Lord Elrond had forged into the sword, no doubt the Eye – even so far away – found its presence repulsive, for the sword combined the best of the races who sought to oppose it.

"_Elessar_," it whispered, hate in its tone.

I felt like grinning.

Now, it would feel fear.

Now, it would know hatred.

Now, it would realize that its days were coming to an end.

And I – along with what remained of the Fellowship of the Ring – would help bring about that final, fatal, inevitable end.

The Eye shifted, blurring into the sight of the armor-clad Dark Lord as he must have appeared in the Elder Days. He stood upright, clad in darkness, the Ring burning a molten gold on his finger and a staff of power in his hands. The aura of fear and darkness and power surrounded him, and I got the impression that he would be sneering at me if he had a face with which to look at me. He raised one hand, the hand with the One Ring, imperiously – almost lazily – and vanished.

Another image appeared.

Arwen.

As I watched, horrified, her breath left her . . . and no breath returned.

I knew at once that she was dead.

Without thinking, without realizing, without planning, I dropped the palantír.

The Eye burned, and as it did, it laughed.

I stared at the image of Arwen, dead, unable to move, unable to think, unable to _breathe_. She couldn't die – she just _couldn't_ die. She was the whole reason for me to do this, to present myself as the heir of Isildur, to be ready to accept the throne of Gondor. She was my whole _existence_ pratically.

The Eye's laughter resounded throughout the chamber.

Then I realized that the laughter was really in my head. No one else could hear the torment but me, but I knew the image of Arwen was seared into my eyes.

Perhaps I could never be rid of it.

I felt the overwhelming need to breathe, to move, to cover up the palantír and run far, far, far away. My business was done. Sauron had seen me, and no doubt he would take the bait – finally.

But the power of the Eye was too strong, and its hold over me stronger still.

Dimply, part of my wondered if this was why Eldarion had been so vocal in his opposition of this action.

Then the Eye vanished suddenly, and the laughter cut off.

"~My lord Aragorn? Are you all right?~"

~ _Tinúviel_ ~  
The play of gold-red-orange light in the corridor made me nervous. It looked like fire, but there should be none in the main citadel. . . Especially at night.

With quick, gliding footsteps, I hurried down the corridor. I knew the sight I must have made – hair blowing about me, clad in only a shawl and dress, nearly running as I moved. But then again, very few would have been able to notice. I was more gifted with beauty than any other Elven attribute, but it didn't mean I had not gained the other attributes as well, such as swiftness.

I entered the main room in time to see someone stagger backwards from the source of the fire light.

Aragorn.

And the source was the palantír.

Without even thinking, I ran forward and seized the dark cloth Mithrandir had used to cover up the palantír and tossed it on to the Eye before it could hurt anything else.

Aragorn was kneeling on the floor, the sword having clattered to the ground in front of him, and his hands covered his face as his shoulders heaved with each unsteady breath, recovering from whatever Sauron had done to him.

Carefully, I knelt beside him.

"~My lord Aragorn? Are you all right?~"

He raised his head slowly, his eyes slowly calming down. "~Tinúviel,~" he said, as though he was at once surprised and not surprised.

"~Are you all right?~" I repeated.

He sighed. "~Do you know what I have done?~"

I pursed my lips. My sister had filled me in on the confrontation between my brother and Aragorn shortly after the council had been held. I had frowned at my brother's outburst; but then again, I wasn't exactly surprised. My brother felt a very strong loyalty to Aragorn, as his chieftain, as his King, and as his ancestor. He thought it his duty to protect Aragorn no matter what, even at the cost of his life.

Even if it meant arguing with him.

"~I see you do.~"

Shyly, I admitted, "~Estel told me about what transpired between you . . . and my brother. May I ask what prompted you to make this move?~"

He eyed me as though he didn't quite know what to make of my question, as if he wasn't sure whether I was simply curious or being accusatory and sarcastic. I waited patiently; I wanted to hear his reasons firsthand before I judged who was really at fault.

"~I . . . I suppose I wasn't really thinking clearly,~" he confessed in a rush. "~But I knew that our trick – to draw Sauron away and occupy his attention to give Frodo and Sam time – would need bait. And I thought, _what better to bait him than the heir of Isildur_? He has hunted me for so long, no doubt he would definitely take the bait.~"

"~Hmm.~" I crossed my arms, thinking. "~He did, didn't he?~"

Aragorn frowned; that worried me.

"~I don't know. For a moment, I was sure I had him, but then . . . then I wasn't so sure.~"

I pressed my fingers against the cold Evenstar pendant on my neck. I knew the story just as well as my sister and brother did. I knew what he had done. And I knew what had happened as a result.

"~He showed you Arwen, didn't he?~" I asked quietly.

He stared at me. "~How – How – Ah. I forget easily, it seems, how well you know your . . . history.~"

I nodded slowly.

"~Will it work?~" he inquired.

"~Define that.~"

"~Will it give Sam and Frodo the time they need? Will I really be enough to draw the power of the Eye? Will this really . . . work?~"

I considered his questions – considered how to answer, really. I _knew_ the answers. By heart, in fact. I could even most likely recite the exact way the texts had phrased it. But that was most likely _not_ what Aragorn needed – to hear or to know.

Finally, I said carefully, "~Think, my lord. Of what bloodline does my family descend?~"

He looked at me, confused.

Then the answer sunk in, and his shoulders slumped in relaxation. "~Of course,~" he murmured. Then he lifted his eyes to me. "~Forgive me, Tinúviel; I am afraid that at present my mind is not focused on what it needs to be. There is much that needs my attention.~"

He stood, giving me a hand to help me before he bent down to retrieve his sword. He sheathed it quickly, and I saw his fingers press gently against the Evenstar he bore himself. The silence filled the room as we moved to leave, for him to return to his friends and for I to return to my family, for one last night of peace before the final battle erupted.

Still . . . silence was unnerving.

"~You really love her, don't you?~" I murmured. It was a stupid question, but . . .

Aragorn sighed. "~I have hope yet that she leaves for Valinor,~" he said soberly by way of reply. "~I would that she would return to her family and her people than to waste away her beauty here, where all would end in grief and death.~"

I nodded. "~You love her enough to want her to go.~"

His eyes flashed to me. "~As you do Haldir.~"

I skidded to a stop, startled. "You know?" I demanded, too surprised to speak in Elvish – something I had thought only my brother and sister would fall prey to.

Aragorn laughed. "~Oh, Tinúviel,~" he chided. "~Of course I know. It was written all over your face when Haldir departed from Edoras. I could see it. And I am sure I was not the only one; your feelings for him are strong, and it shows. And, of course, his feelings for you were just as strong – I have no doubt he shall continue to sing your praises for centuries to come, if not eons.~"

"~Centuries,~" I murmured through numb lips.

He reached out and placed his hand on my shoulder. "~I have suffered the same fate as you,~" he said solemnly. "~If you will take my advice, Tinúviel, I would advise you to remember – but do not regret. Regret brings sorrow, and only sorrow, and you cannot live with eyes clouded with sorrow.~"

I met his eyes, and saw the depths of his sincerity. Aragorn and I were not close; Eldarion had Aragorn and Estel had Legolas, but I did not have anyone. But that didn't mean we didn't care for each other. And Aragorn had seen in me the suffering he had once suffered, and now he offered the only comfort he possibly could. It was his gift to me, the evidence of the bond of blood and family between us, and I welcomed it.

"~Thank you, my lord,~" I said. "~I will always remember your words.~"

He smiled. "~Good. It is the only thanks I can give you for what you have done for my people.~"

"~_Our_ people,~" I corrected softly.

Aragorn grinned and inclined his head. "~Good night, my lady.~"

He was halfway down the hall before I remembered.

"~My lord Aragorn!~"

He turned. "~Yes?~"

"~You do realize . . . that my family's presence . . . may affect the way things turn out?~" I said slowly. I meant it to be a statement, but it came out as more of a question than anything.

Aragorn frowned. "~No, I had not.~" He sighed. "~I guess we will find out in two days' time, then.~"

_Two days' time. Yes. And then we will match the power of the line of the Peredhel against the might of Sauron, and we will see who triumphs. For even if my family falls, more will come – and eventually, Sauron _will_ fall, and the Ring will be destroyed, and the darkness will be vanquished. And then . . . And then the fate of my family will rest in the hands of the Valar, as is proper. Whether it be Manwë or Mandos matters not – only the victory for our people._

So I smiled, and curtsied, and agreed, "~In two days' time, my lord.~"

* * *

A/N: For anyone confused by that last bit, there – Manwë is the King of the Valar, and Mandos is the Lord of the Halls of Mandos, where the souls of the newly dead go (Elven or Men). In other words, if they survive, they would be subject to the rule of Manwë; if they die, their fate will lie in the hands of Mandos. Hope that clears up any confusion!


	65. Chapter 64

A/N: In this chapter and the next, I'm assuming it takes about two days to reach Mordor from Minas Tirith. The movie doesn't explicitly show this, but I don't recall the book covering it and I honestly don't think it'd take under a day to move the entire army. So I'm going with two. If I'm wrong, please excuse the lapse – I need the night camp for this chapter.

* * *

**_Chapter Sixty-Four_**

~ _Kiria _~  
I hugged my son carefully but tightly; I wasn't about to let him go off on this venture without a proper and thorough good-bye. All around me, other mothers and sisters were doing the same – but no fathers or brothers. Almost every Man had responded eagerly when Aragorn had requested assistance from Minas Tirith to shore up the losses of the army of Rohan, even those generally too young or too old to fight well.

I drew back. "~Take care of yourself,~" I commanded. "~And the others.~"

Eldarion's face was mixed exasperation and anticipation. He wanted to go, but he didn't really want to offend me. "~Yes, Mother.~"

I held back a sigh. _Boys will be boys. And Men will be Men._ "~Then go with my blessing.~"

I found Estel almost immediately afterwards; she was with Legolas, as I had thought she would be, and the tall Elf stood out even with the crowding of armored Men and horses and everything else. He was something out of this world, and it showed.

"~Be careful,~" I cautioned her.

Out of all my children, perhaps Estel was the most like the Elves – faithful and distanced, impulsive and keen, innocent and wise, all rolled into one person who could flip between the wise, solemn nature of the Elves to the focused, passionate nature of Men in an instant. Perhaps that was what drew Legolas to her so strongly, that mix of contrasts.

"~Always, Mother,~" Estel replied, her eyes already far away.

I sighed. I couldn't keep her back either. Even Tinúviel, my lady-like daughter, was going to battle this time, and Estel's nature was a far cry from her older sister's.

Legolas seemed to sense my unease. "~I will see to her safety, my lady,~" he said quietly. "~I will allow no harm to come to her.~"

I returned his gaze evenly. "~Even from you?~"

He didn't react physically; but I could sense his surprise. He had thought I hadn't known.

Oh, but it was so obvious! Almost as obvious as Tinúviel's longing for Haldir, almost as powerful as Aragorn's love for Arwen. I would have to be blind and deaf to not notice the singing power of the affection between my daughter and Legolas, and even then I would have to be extremely unobservant. My daughter could be fickle when she wished, and she was inexperienced in the matters of the heart – but she too had the quality of Men that made her reach out and hold on to a treasure when she found it and never let it go, not even when she was supposed to, not even when the Elven blood in her urged her to.

He recovered enough to say, "~You know?~"

"~Estel is as much as my daughter as Tinúviel and Eldarion,~" I replied simply. "~And I have been a mother for many years, Prince Legolas of Mirkwood.~"

He understood immediately.

"~I am not a prince to her, and I never intend to be, regardless of what she thinks or you think or anyone else thinks, even my parents. But Estel will be my queen, now and forever – always,~" he countered.

I kept my face impassive, but inside I relaxed a little. _This_ was what I had sought from him.

I had reminded him of the difference in rank, and he had brushed it aside as the wind seeps dust from the field. He had nearly outright sworn to never let her falter in his heart, to never let the barriers keep them apart, to always have her at the forefront of his mind and heart and to worship her as a queen in his mind, even if she never was queen the way he was a prince.

"~I will protect her, my lady. And I will never ask more of her than she is prepared to give – or what I think is proper for her to give,~" he vowed firmly.

I held his eyes for a moment longer. Then I said merely, "~Then my daughter has chosen well.~"

I turned and walked away, and, when just looking upwards briefly, I glimpsed the figures of the Lady Éowyn and Lord Faramir standing together at the window, overlooking the winding procession of soldiers. They spoke briefly, and then Faramir reached gently to clasp her hand before Éowyn rested her head on his shoulder, soft smiles on both of their faces.

_In spite of all this darkness and despair and death,_ I thought, a smile building on my own face, _there is still enough light for love to bloom._

~ _Eldarion_ ~  
When we camped for the night, we made it a priority to erect as little tents as possible so that we could leave camp early the next morning and still have enough strength to take on the armies of Mordor. Due to this, I found myself squeezed in the same tent with my family, Legolas, Aragorn, Gimli, and a few others. Not that I was complaining, of course.

I sidled closer to Legolas, who was watching Estel with a faint smile on his face.

"~What did my mother say to you?~" I asked curiously.

Legolas turned to me, a faint frown marring his face. "~I beg your pardon?~" he asked politely, still tracking Estel in his peripheral vision.

I sighed in irritation. "~Valar, Legolas – relax,~" I said tartly. "~Nothing's going to bite Estel if you're not watching her like a hawk a hatchling. Now answer my question; I know you heard it.~"

His shoulders slumped somewhat, and I felt him turn his full attention upon me for the first time. "~She wished to confirm that my feelings for Estel were genuine, and that I would not abandon her because of her lineage,~" he explained. "~It is something every mother would do; surely you can agree.~"

I nodded slowly. "~So that is why. . . I guess I should have expected it.~"

"~Is that so?~" Legolas asked, one eyebrow arching.

"~Oh, yes. After all, I was a Ranger, out in the fields – no need to worry about marrying me, because it's the duty of the bride to contact the groom. And Tinúviel was already engaged to Círdan, so she was all set. . . But not Estel.~"

He closed his eyes, nodding as comprehension sunk in. "~Ah. . . So I see. You were worried she wasn't ready?~"

I smiled and grasped his shoulders. "~Not anymore. I think you'll do her justice, Legolas.~"

"~I certainly hope so,~" he murmured, turning back to watch Estel again.

As if she sensed his gaze, moments later she looked up, saw us, and skipped back to Legolas's side. Her clothing was subdued in color and made more for protection than a fashion statement, but her eyes were alight with enough excitement and happiness to cancel out even the dull grey and black of her attire.

"~Why are you two over here sulking?~" she demanded.

"~Just woolgathering,~" Legolas said gently. "~Never mind us.~"

She frowned at him and opened her mouth.

But she never got a chance to speak.

A winding alarm rose up at the camp's perimeter, followed by the sound of frantic shouts and fast running. At once, the atmosphere was filled with tension. Many hands went for and drew weapons, even my own. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Legolas reach out to pull Estel protectively against his side, one of his long knives already in hand. Then the running sound drew closer and a messenger burst through the tent flap.

"Riders, my lord!" he gasped. "Approaching fast, from the west side!"

"Who are they?" Éomer demanded.

"No one knows," he answered. "It is too dark to see the standard they bear, but it is no white flag of truce."

"Get the men ready," Aragorn ordered.

He locked eyes with Éomer, Legolas, Gimli, and me – we all nodded. As one, we rushed out of the tent, heading towards where our horses were stationed. There was the brief sound of an argument; and then I saw two figures mount Legolas's horse.

I sighed.

Estel. Of course.

But we were in too much of a hurry for even Legolas to try and persuade her to stay behind.

Sure enough, when we reached the west edge of camp, the riders were nearly nigh upon us. They moved . . . strangely, flowing across the desert with supernatural ease. Their standard rippled as they moved, making it impossible to make out, perhaps even if it had been broad daylight. Dust rose behind their mounts, which were obviously fresh and fast.

"What new devilry is this?" I heard Gimli grumble.

Just a few yards from the camp, the riders halted as one. Even the horses calmed and stood at attention, something which made my neck prickle.

Supernatural indeed.

There was silence, and then one of the riders spoke. In the dark, it was impossible to judge where the rider was. But the voice . . . it rose and fell like a bell's ring, pure and musical and otherworldly.

"We come in peace. We merely wish to join you."

"Who are you?" Aragorn asked.

In answer, the rider threw back the hood. Even with the faint quality of the firelight dancing around, the figure was immediately recognizable. Immediately, the other riders followed suit, and within minutes we were all dismounting and racing to meet in the middle.

It was the sons of Elrond, and warriors of Imladris and Lothlórien.

We all clasped shoulders, and then hugs were exchanged for Estel and Tinúviel. And all around there was laughter and greetings, in a mix of Elvish and the common speech.

That is, until a shout of surprise split the air.

"Haldir?"

~ _Tinúviel_ ~  
It was an amazingly sight, to see the warriors of Imladris grouped there, all under their standard. I was reintroduced to Elladan and Elrohir, and I found myself ever more grateful to them for coming to our aid in this desperate time yet again – and more than ever wanting to meet their father, who had done so much for us even though he himself was not here.

But he, as the twins said soberly, was tending to their sickening sister – my ancestress and namesake, and therefore rightly worried.

Something was different, though. Some of the warrior's accents were different, and they did not seem tied to the sons of Elrond. They even wore different armor, even though they bore no standard of their own.

One of the riders was still mounted. Frowning, I went to him.

"~You are among friends, sire,~" I said. "~You may rest among us in peace.~"

For a moment, the rider did nothing. Then he swung off, as graceful as the rest of his brethren, and landed lightly in front of me. He was taller than I had thought, but he remained hooded, so I could not see his face.

"~Sire?~" I asked uncertainly, taking a step back and resting a hand on the dagger strapped to my waist.

"~You need have no fear from me, my lady Tinúviel,~" he said softly.

For some reason, the voice reverberated within me – as if I knew it from somewhere that I didn't quite recall. It was like . . . I didn't know how to describe it. Like the sun and moon and stars all mixed together – like a rainbow sparkling in the sunset – like _life_. It was everything at once, all mixed together in a breathtaking collage that made my heart race.

"Haldir?" I nearly shouted.

He threw back his hood, smiling at me. The light danced over his face, shining clearly as people reacted to my shout. His blue eyes shone with amusement and affection – but they were fixed only on me.

He ignored everyone else, stepping forward to take my hands. "~_Meleth_,~" he whispered, "~are you really so surprised?~"

"But – But I – " I stuttered, too startled to speak in Elvish.

Haldir reached up to caress my cheek. "~You thought I had left for the Undying Lands.~"

"~Yes,~" I whispered.

He shook his head once, never letting his eyes leave me. "~There is nothing for me in the Undying Lands, _meleth-nin_. Not now that I have found you.~"

"But – "

He pressed his fingers against my lips, stilling my speech.

"~Perhaps one day I shall find the strength to leave you,~" he said soberly. "~But that day was not then, and is not now, and will not be for many years.~" He smiled again and placed his arms around me, drawing me closer. "~And I intend to cherish those years at your side while I still can. I will not leave you again – no matter what you say to me.~"

"~Oh, Haldir. . .~"

I buried my face in his neck, feeling the tears seep out – tears of happiness, now, though.

I knew he understood, and I knew for certain that he knew my surrender, for he tilted my chin upwards to catch my lips in a knee-weakening kiss that told me in no uncertain terms just how much he loved me.

Afterwards, when we separated, I found myself happily oblivious to all the wolf-whistles and gossip.

After all, even if I died, at least I would die knowing Haldir cherished me above anything else.

And _that_ was worth more than a lifetime.

* * *

A/N: Yes, yes, I know Haldir left – or at least, we never see him again, so we all think he left. But I felt that it would be right to bring him back for this. Agree, disagree? Review and let me know!

Next chapter, we hit the Black Gate of Mordor! (And the surprise that awaits.)


	66. Chapter 65

**_Chapter Sixty-Five_**

~ _Estel_ ~  
"Where are they?"

When Pippin voiced the thought we were all thinking, I could feel the tension in the air multiply substantially among us. Even Legolas – my calm, stoic, impassive Legolas – shifted slightly behind me, the hand that had been calmly resting on my knee tensing somewhat. And he had been calm throughout the entire, almost day-long slog to Mordor, so for him to tense now of all times spoke to the truth of his inner feelings of what was coming – and how he felt about me getting into the thick of it.

But Aragorn simply spurred his horse forward without looking back.

I felt a whisper of a sigh on my neck. "~Follow him,~" Legolas murmured, so softly I barely heard. "~Before he does something foolish.~"

"~I agree,~" I whispered back.

We weren't the only ones. Within minutes, Éomer, Gandalf, Eldarion, and Gimli followed as well. Only Haldir and Tinúviel stayed behind, and I got the feeling that it was because Haldir had weighed the pros of going with the cons of risking my sister and had decided it was better to protect her.

We had just halted when Aragorn raised his voice and called, "Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth! Let justice be done upon him!"

For a moment, there was silence.

Then the gate started to creak ever so slowly open.

Legolas's breathing accelerated, and one of his arms slipped around my waist to pull me against his. I leaned against him, away from whatever this new horror would be – dying to know and dying to never see.

A single rider approached us slowly from the gate, clad in a full set of armor atop a dark horse.

Once I saw, I felt again that urge to never stop looking and to run as far away as possible – or to hide my face in Legolas's chest.

The only part of the rider was his bloody, expanded, disgusting mouth.

The Mouth of Sauron, the legends called him.

Now I knew why.

The bloody mouth opened, and the foulest voice emanated. I shivered; its voice rasped against my ears and very soul, in the worst possible way.

"My master, Sauron the Great, bids you welcome," it said. Then it made a show of looking around at us – at least, it _looked_ like it was – like it was superior to us. "Is there any in this rout with the authority to treat with me?"

"We do not come to treat with Sauron, faithless and accursed," Mithrandir retorted, his voice strong and arousing compared to the rasping quality of the Mouth of Sauron. It helped me shake off the stupor of shock and focus once more. "Tell your master this: The armies of Mordor must disband. He is to depart these lands, never to return."

The Mouth's teeth curled into a smile. "Old Greybeard." It seemed to gasp in recognition – probably for show. "I have a token I was bidden to show thee."

A pure-white _mithril_ shirt hung in its hands.

For a second I stared at it. For some reason, it looked . . . familiar.

Then someone whispered, "Frodo."

I felt the blood drain from my face. That was why it was familiar – this had been Frodo's _mithril_ shirt, the shirt that had saved him in Moria, the one that his uncle had given him before he had left with the Fellowship in Imladris.

He would never have parted with it willingly.

The Mouth of Sauron tossed the shirt almost like garbage to Mithrandir, who caught it and gripped it as though he was trying to see whether it was a fake – or perhaps trying to ascertain for himself a way to escape the grasp of grief that was now setting in. Only it wasn't just for him; it was for all of us.

"Frodo!" Pippin cried out.

"Silence," Mithrandir told him – told all of us.

But Merry had already spoken, already having reacted to Pippin's cry. "No!" he echoed.

"Silence!" Mithrandir thundered.

I turned my face into Legolas's shirt for a moment, trying to relieve the grief I felt without letting it be seen – or at least all of it be seen. Legolas's hands tightened where they rested over my own, letting me know he felt it too.

The others reacted too. Aragorn's face was pale with shock and horror; Eldarion, filled with rage and torn between attacking down and condemning us all to death or not attacking and not seeking revenge for Frodo. Gimli looked about ready to chuck his axe into the Mouth of Sauron, and his expression looked so real that I felt I should be ducking about now. Even Éomer, who knew next to nothing about the whole business, was tense with worry, fear, and anguish, the reins bunched tightly in one hand and the sword hilt digging into his palm in the other.

The Mouth of Sauron's grin only widened. It had gotten the reactions it wanted from us with the appearance of Frodo's shirt. The balance of power was shifting – and in its direction.

Smoothly and smugly, it said, its tone full of false sympathy, "The halfling was dear to thee, I see. Know that he suffered greatly at the hands of his host. Who would have thought one so small could endure so much pain?"

The Mouth laughed wickedly at our clear displays of despair and horror and anguish, directing his next, brutal words at Mithrandir, where tears were already beginning to fall: "And he did, Gandalf. He did."

The Mouth left to laughing – and final the tension snapped.

An arrow sprouted in its mount's side; the horse shrieked in pain and terror and nearly threw off the mouth.

Eldarion spurred his horse forward, his sword already in hand, his bow hastily stowed in the quiver. "You lie, traitor!" he shouted. "You lie! Sauron knows _nothing_ of Frodo, nor of where he is or what he does!"

"Well, well, who is this?" the Mouth said, amused and calming his horse with a quick swat.

Eldarion's eyes flashed. "I am Eldarion Elessarion, heir to the House of Telcontar, and I know of the lies you speak, for if Sauron had the Ring of Power, he would face us now."

The Mouth seemed to falter somewhat at his declaration.

After all, the House of Telcontar did not yet exist. Aragorn, as King Elessar, would found it through his son and heir with Lady Arwen, Prince Eldarion, to replace the House of Elendil. But my family was truthfully of that bloodline.

"'_Strider_'?" Legolas hissed in my ear, easily having understood my brother's declaration and the Quenya it came from.

I forced a soft cough to replace my laugh. "~Blame Merry and Pippin.~"

"Hmm."

But then the Mouth laughed again, and it was derisiveness mixed with sadistic pleasure. I cringed into Legolas, knowing that something terrible was about to happen. Surely Sauron did not know of our real circumstances?

"Ah, yes – my master told me of you as well," the Mouth said, its smile still wide. "Scion of the Elves and – ah, yes, little hope."

I felt his eyes on me, and I shrunk even further back against Legolas.

Legolas, in turn, leaned slightly forward, anger in his stance, and his breath hissed out from him in warning.

The Mouth let out another derisive cackle. "Shrink back all you like, little hope, but it will change nothing. The master, Sauron the Great, has Seen you and he knows who you are. The little trinkets of the Elves will not save you in the end."

Automatically, my fingers curled to the Elessar.

"Yes," the Mouth said, noticing. "The Elfstone. It will do you no good. The Elves will fall – and with it, your 'House of Telcontar'."

"Silence!" Eldarion shouted, redirecting the Mouth of Sauron's attention, which probably was his goal.

"Ah, yes. I believe the time has passed for talking on this matter." He held up a finger, as if remembering something important – as he had when he had given us Frodo's shirt. "I have a gift for you as well."

It raised a hand, lazily.

Shouts rose from the Uruk-hai stationed on the wall, and then more shouts rang out. Then raucous laughter sounded as the gates creaked ever so slowly open. Six Uruk-hai came through, four flanking the strange triad of people in the middle – two Uruk-hai, dragging . . . something. I wasn't even sure if it was a person.

The Elessar on my neck suddenly warmed. It did not burn, but it warmed slightly.

Then the Uruk-hai tossed the thing to the ground in front of the Mouth of Sauron. He or she or whatever it was did not stir, though that was understandable in its pitiable condition.

The Mouth of Sauron waved dismissively at the figure.

"This was one of the prisoners," it said lazily. "I think it would appreciate freedom now – after it, it won't get it any other time. That is, _if_ you're serious about trying to take on the Dark Lord Sauron, Lord of Middle-earth and all realms therein." It turned to the Uruk-hai. "Get it to speak."

The Uruk-hai stepped forward, laughing, and brutally kicked the figure right in the chest. The person gasped in time to a sickening snapping sound.

"Name," the Mouth hissed smugly.

"No," the person mumbled, the voice dazed with pain and confusion – but still familiar . . . in an odd way.

The Uruk-hai stepped on the person's leg, and there was another crack, this one ringing through our ears and making us all flinch.

"Speak!" the Mouth commanded.

The person didn't reply, curling inward with an agonized cry as bloody fingers clutched at a mangled leg in a pitiful attempt to try and alleviate the pain. Legolas flinched again behind me, his ears far more sensitive to the cry than my own.

The Elessar was practically burning now, shimmering dimly against my clothes. It was trying to tell me something, something important – but what? What could possibly . . .

The voice clicked.

I threw myself off of our horse, nearly making it rear as I scrambled off.

But I didn't care. My entire world had ceased to exist before my eyes – my loyalty to Aragorn, my affection for Eldarion and my mother and Tinúúviel, my love for Legolas, my respect for Mithrandir, my comradeship with Éomer and Éowyn and Gimli, my fear and hate of the Mouth of Sauron, my pride in my lineage, my knowledge of the past – all gone.

My whole vision was filled by the dirty, bleeding, broken man in front of me.

"Father!"


	67. Chapter 66

**_Chapter Sixty-Six_**

~ _Eldarion_ ~  
Estel flew to the man's side, leaving us all stunned motionless in the wake of her exclamation. Even Legolas, ever so protective of her, was frozen in the saddle.

_Father. She called him _Father_._

That was impossible. I had seen Father die. I had _seen_ Father die. I had seen Father _die_.

That thought finally spurred me into action.

I leaped off the horse and yanked Estel away, only noticing out of the corner of my eye how Aragorn moved his horse forward to partially shield us from the Mouth of Sauron and the Uruk-hai guards still there.

"~What are you doing?~" I demanded.

Estel wrenched her hand away. "~Can't you feel it, Eldarion?~" she asked, her voice just as urgent but a great deal quieter. "~Can you not feel the connection that binds us to him? Can you not see that it _is_ Father?~"

"~Father is _dead_!~" I shouted without thinking. "~Dead and buried and beyond the circles of the world, Estel! _I saw him die!_~"

I didn't expect to have my anger, my sadness, my anguish trumped, but trumped it was.

"~You saw me die too!~" Estel retorted, her voice alive with more grief than I'd ever heard. "~And Mother, and Tinúviel!~"

I found myself floundering. My mind was floating in a sea of confusion, of possibilities, of hopes I wasn't sure I wanted to crush or seize.

"~But, Estel . . .~"

She suddenly seized my right hand, and jabbed at the Ring of Barahir. "~Listen to your heart, Eldarion! Can you not feel the warmth invoked by the nearness of one of our bloodline? Can you not hear the whispers of your heart from the power of the Ring of Barahir? Have you become blind to the world you were born into, Eldarion?~

"~I have not.~"

Stunned, I had no choice but to let her go when she pulled away yet again. She turned away without any further word, kneeling besides the person and laying a tender hand on his brow.

And yet . . . And yet, somehow, her words rang true deep down.

I _had_ closed myself to my feelings, for even now the Ring of Barahir did seem warm against my skin. I _had_ closed myself to my heart, for even now I could feel the urge to see the truth.

I_ had_ become blind.

In my desperate attempt to protect myself against the pain of losing anyone else the way I had lost my father, I had shut down my connection to the world, the worst possible thing one with Elven blood and Elven eyes to view the world could. I had allowed myself to lose the very thing that made me a descendant of the Peredhel.

So, for the first time in nearly two decades, I opened my heart and mind and soul, flinging wide open the gates and sending my thoughts whirling out like an arrow in flight, calling to all the world to answer me.

_Is this my father?_

The answer was unanimous and crystal clear, in my heart, in my mind, and in the now-burning Ring on my hand.

Slowly, I moved forward as if in a dream. Slowly, I knelt beside my sister. Slowly, I rested my hand on the dirtied, sweaty, bruised brow of the Man.

And then, very softly, I said, "~Father.~"

The Man stirred, and suddenly clear soft blue eyes opened and met my own, the kind I had last stared into so long ago.

But . . . they hadn't changed.

I would have recognized them half-asleep and half-dead.

"Eldarion," the Man – my Father – whispered.

~ _Legolas_ ~  
I could only stare at Estel and Eldarion.

Their father? As long as I had known her, I had known that Estel had lost her father and brother in one swoop, and then her mother and sister. She had regained her brother, found her mother and sister – was it really possible that the entire family had really survived? Even though Eldarion's clearest memory of his father was of . . . his death?

_The Valar have roles for us all to play_, I reminded myself. Sometimes, we might never even know the parts we would play.

There was the sound of thundering hooves, and then Tinúviel rushed into my field of vision, falling to her knees beside her brother and sister. They conversed quickly in soft, rushed tones that even I had to strain to hear, but I caught the gist – they were debating how best to get their father to receive immediate care for the injuries he had sustained.

Haldir caught on to. He dismounted and moved to Tinúviel's side, glaring at the Uruk-hai when they shifted in her direction.

"~Quickly, get him on a horse,~" he urged quietly, resting a hand on his love's shoulder. "~You can accompany him back to Minas Tirith before the battle begins and all hope is lost.~"

I bit my cheek. So. Haldir felt the same way I did.

But I refrained from commenting. Estel was far more stubborn than her sister, and I had not a hope of persuading her to play the injured-father-caretaker while battle loomed behind her and cast a dark shadow of death over those she loved.

In the meantime, apparently Tinúviel had relented, for then Haldir and Eldarion gently lifted the Man between them and started edging towards the horse with her trailing.

Estel remained behind, hands clasped in fear, her eyes wide with worry as she watched.

Then the Mouth of Sauron reached towards her.

At once, I got ready to fire, seizing an arrow and lifting the bow faster than I had ever had before.

But there was no need.

The Elessar suddenly burst into a soft shimmer of emerald and silver light, casting a faint glow over Estel. She seemed to change again, once again becoming the queenly woman she had been on the Pelennor Fields, growing taller and more serious and a great deal wiser. It sparkled faintly on us, and even I felt courage and hope and strength seep into me, calming my tension and sharpening my determination.

The Uruk-hai felt quite different.

They shrieked and dropped their weapons and covered their eyes, cowering in fear. Even the Mouth of Sauron drew back.

"You think me easy prey, Lieutenant of Barad-dûr?"

The voice made me stare. Estel didn't sound like herself anymore. She sounded like a queen, like a goddess, like what I imagined Lúthien Tinúviel herself might sound as she spoke, all tinkling bells and singing chimes and pure music.

Estel turned slowly, and the Mouth of Sauron shrank back as the full force of her aura touched him.

"You do not know me," she stated. "I am not just 'little hope'. I _am_ hope – for my people, for my kingdom, for my world. I am the last of the line of Isildur, of Eärendil, of Lúthien Tinúviel. I am the Queen of Gondor and Arnor and Rohan – and, _you_, traitor to Númenor, cannot begin to challenge my right, my power, and my lineage. For Barad-dûr will crumble as Mount Doom consumes the land in ash, and what remains of Sauron will flee into the deepest, darkest, foulest depths of the Void. What say you now?"

The Mouth of Sauron said nothing.

The Elessar flared once before sinking in dormancy yet again. And, as before, Estel's eyes flickered once before closing.

I sprang from the saddle and barely managed to catch her before she fell. But at least it wasn't as long before her eyes fluttered open, although she seemed weak, confused, and disoriented; once again, I realized, she did not remember what she had said under the influence of the Elessar. Which may have been a good thing.

The Mouth of Sauron began to laugh at her obvious weakness.

There were hoof beats, and then I looked up to see that Aragorn had ridden casually around to the Mouth's side. It paused in its laughter to speak, changing its attention from Estel to Aragorn.

"And who is this? Isildur's heir?" It snorted. "It takes more to make a king than a broken Elvish blade."

Aragorn gave a small, grim smile, almost like resigned acceptation.

Then his sword flashed up and out.

There was silence. Then the Mouth of Sauron's head tumbled off one way as the body fell the other, and the horse reared in belated surprise and fear.

"I guess that concludes negotiations," I heard Gimli mumble.

Aragorn whirled his horse around. "I do not believe it," he declared vehemently, almost urgently. "I _will_ not."

~ _Aragorn_ ~  
Behind me, the Black Gate creaked loudly, and I turned my head just in time to see it swing very slowly open, revealing row after row after row of marching Orcs and Uruk-hai, with the red-orange-yellow light of the Eye of Sauron shining open them as it stared straight at us.

Only . . . I kind of got the feeling that it was really staring at _me_.

In either way, the reaction was obvious.

"Pull back!" I ordered, spurring my horse into motion as I spoke. "Pull back!"

We thundered back to our army, with Legolas and Estel the last to reach the safety of the line, mainly because Legolas had had to move Estel to his horse and then get both of them on and then finally get the horse to return. I waited until they had made it, and noted with relief that Estel seemed to have recovered and was perfectly alert now.

"Hold your ground!" I called, seeing the fear in the eyes of the Men as they beheld the Orc army massing to and around us. "Hold your ground."

I spurred my horse back into motion, to better maintain eye contact with all the Men.

"Sons of Gondor! Of Rohan!" I shouted, letting my voice carry across the plain My brothers! I see _in your eyes_ the same fear that would take the _heart_ of me. A day may come when the courage of Men fails, when we forsake our friends, and break all bonds of fellowship, but _it is not this day_. An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the Age of Men comes crashing down, but _it is not this day_! This day we fight!"

The Men murmured, standing at attention, gripping their swords and shields, their eyes alight with the power of my words.

But I wasn't finished. The words just kept coming, like Estel's seemed to, flowing with ease and with each word I felt power grow in me. And I wondered: _Is this what it means to be a King of Men?_

"By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand, Men of the West!"

The soldiers agreed.

Swords were drawn, shields were hefted, and everywhere people were readying themselves. No longer did fear or apprehension or resignation reign. No, they were gone. We were not fighting for ourselves anymore. We fought for our people, for our country, for all of Middle Earth. We were the Men of the West, and this was our stand. Oh, we would die – but we would be sure to die in such a way as to give honor to the race of Men and to prove that we _could_ stand against Sauron. And in our deaths, Frodo and Sam would find a way to end what Isildur had started, and finally the land would have peace.

We would die, yes.

But not in vain.

Beside me, I heard Gimli mutter, "Never thought I'd die fighting side by side with an Elf."

"What about side by side with a friend?" Legolas retorted warmly.

There was a pause.

Then: "Aye, I could do that."

I saw, out of the corner of my eye, that they were not the only ones doing this. All around us, Men were settling after bidding good-bye or telling jokes with comrades. Even the Elves were exchanging glances and clasping shoulders.

I turned to face the army, lifting the Sword of Elendil and readying myself to charge.

I did not expect to see the Eye of Sauron focused right at me.

"Aragorn. . . _Elessar_. . ." it whispered, all of its power as a Maia focused on me in that very moment, physically and mentally.

I found myself taking one slow step forward, my eyes enlarging in size, my sword slowly falling back to my side. Its power was haunting, in a way, dark and miserable and potent in ways I couldn't even begin to fathom.

I began to turn back to Mithrandir.

He looked at me, taking a step forward, alarm and confusion in his eyes. But I didn't look at his eyes. What concerned me was in his hand.

The _mithril_ shirt. Frodo's shirt.

Frodo.

And like that, the spell of Sauron was broken.

I smiled, and gripped my sword anew, and whispered, "For Frodo."

Then I charged.


	68. Chapter 67

**_Chapter Sixty-Seven_**

~ _Legolas_ ~  
The fighting started almost immediately when our charging army clashed with the encircling army of Uruk-hai and Orcs. It was swift, deadly, confusing. All around there were shouts, grunts, cries; all around bodies flew, fell, flung forward; all around there was death, injury, blood.

This was battle at its worst – and maybe its best.

If you liked war, of course.

I did not.

Nor did Estel or Tinúviel or Eldarion or Aragorn or Mithrandir or Haldir. But when it was necessary, we were certainly a force to be reckoned with.

There was no Orc that stood in front of me and lived, and there was no ally beside me that fell. The forces of Gondor and Rohan were weary from the long two days of marching, and quite a few were not yet at their prime or long past it. In other words, this was not the best army to muster to fight all the armies at the Black Gate. But it was the best we had, and we would do our best with it.

I was just slaying an Orc when a terrible shriek filled my ears. If not for the reflexes ingrained in me with years of fighting, I would have dropped my sword to claw at my ears.

Nazgûl.

I nearly cursed under my breath.

There was no way we could possibly hope to fight the Nazgûl. True, Éowyn had brought about the end of the Witch-King of Angmar – but that end had been prophesied for centuries before by Lord Glorfindel. None of the others had that. And I did not think Mithrandir was up to fighting one of them, much less all eight of them.

Then there was another sound – a fluttering ripple, almost, that in no way resembled the sound of a Nazgûl.

I looked up just in time to see eagles fly down and attack the Nazgûl.

And I wasn't the only one.

"Eagles!" I heard one of the Hobbits – Pippin, I thought – shout. "The eagles are coming!"

The eagles descended on the Nazgûl with a ferocity, speed, and swiftness that took everyone by surprise. The Black Riders shrieked in surprise and disdain as the eagles bit and clawed at them, sowing confusion and pain among their ranks and distracting their focus from us – something for which I was very grateful, as none of us were in any condition to fight them.

Then the surviving Nazgûl all suddenly screeched in unison, a high-pitched mind-blowing scream that had me cringing. As one, they swung towards Mount Doom.

Fear bloomed in my heart.

_Frodo._

Someone had put on the Ring, and attracted the attention of the Eye and the Nazgûl.

_No. No. No!_

After all this, for things to end this way?

Something touched my back; I instantly tensed and spun around, nearly slicing the person in half. But she had the sense to leap away.

I felt the wildness in me drain away at the sight of Estel.

"Legolas! What are you doing?" she exclaimed. "Three Uruk-hai have nearly killed you!"

I raised my hand and touched her cheek briefly. "I'm sorry. I was . . . distracted," I spit out, slashing to her left; the Orc howled and fell back, its own sword falling only a few inches short of Estel's side.

"I know." She glanced towards Mount Doom, her own concern appearing briefly, and then she went still and her eyes went wide. "Aragorn!"

I whirled around.

For a moment, I couldn't see him – although how I could miss the Sword of Elendil, the Flame of the West, Andúril – was beyond me. Then I saw, and my own eyes went wide in horror, and I sprang forward, shoving Men and Orcs alike out of my way.

Aragorn was on the ground, a troll's foot on his chest.

As I struggled to him, he withdrew a dagger and slammed it into the troll's foot; it grunted. But he had done no true damage, and he was at a major disadvantage. He would die if someone – if _we_ – didn't help him.

I flung myself forward against the press of people towards him, vaguely aware of Estel doing the same at my side.

But we couldn't – wouldn't reach him in time.

I wanted to howl in frustration.

Without stopping, I reached for my bow as I ran. I would have to try and use it; by the time I was in sword range, all I would be good for was avenging Aragorn's corpse. And by then, the Middle-earth would be doomed, for there was no other heir to the throne of the King of Men, no other person to unite them, no other Man willing to take on that burden and set things right.

And then the most horrible scream I had ever heard punctured my ears.

~ _Estel_ ~  
I felt the strangest tug on my gut, even though the Elessar did not burn or shine or do anything. It was like a shadow, a burden, a fear was leaving me – one I hadn't even known I was prey to.

Then the Eye cried out.

Legolas shuddered as his pace slowed a fraction; his ears were more than twice as sensitive as my own, and already _I_ wanted to claw at my ears from the terrible noise. I couldn't imagine how it must hurt him.

The noise continued, and I risked a glance.

I stared.

The Eye was contracting furiously in the tower of Barad-dûr, screeching and roiling in its nest of fire and flame.

The troll paused, looked back at the Eye of Sauron – and then fled. Other Uruk-hai and Orcs did the same thing, not even challenging those they passed or attempting to harm us. I could have lifted up my sword and I would have sliced in half at least ten, twenty, thirty of them as the minute passed and they ran by, suddenly oblivious to us.

Aragorn stood slowly.

His movement was like a spark of remembrance in me. I suddenly remembered why I had been running to him.

I completed the move, and I ran up to him and threw my arms around him.

"Estel," he said, his voice breathless with surprise. "Estel – what – What is going on? What – why – "

There was another tug in my gut, and then suddenly there was the tiniest avalanche in the corner of the tower of Barad-dûr. A very, very, very tiny avalanche. Just one or two rocks, falling and clanking to the barren ash-soil on the ground.

And then the tower's base crumbled.

The tower of Barad-dûr – the ultimate symbol of darkness, of Sauron, of Morgoth – was falling.

Just a few thousand feet from the ground, there was a painful pull.

And then the Eye of Sauron folded onto itself and then imploded, sending an enormous shockwave of air and ash and dark power flying forth.

The ground itself shook beneath the shockwave. The Black Gate disintegrated, taking the first massive hit, as soon as the shockwave glanced off of it. All around us, the ash crumbled into the sinkholes as the shockwave tore through, decimating the land of Mordor – the _entire_ land.

"Frodo! Frodo!"

It was Pippin, I thought – or perhaps it was Merry . . . someone, shouting, celebrating, not realizing what was going on. . .

And then Mount Doom exploded in a terrific burst of flame and fire and lava, and an agonized cry fell from my lips as the tug in my chest grew painful for the first time. The Ring was destroyed, Sauron was vanquished, the tower of Barad-dûr had collapsed – but something was wrong. Something was terribly, horribly, dreadfully _wrong_.

With a start, I realized that the ground was shaking ominously underneath us.

_No!_

The ground began to crumble beneath us then, and all around us the shouts of victory turned into cries of alarm as finally they noticed.

I fell to my knees when the tug turned painful beyond comprehension, gasping for breath against the pain.

_Valar_, I prayed. _Valar, you saved us – you saved _me_. You must have had a purpose. If this is it, then don't condemn the rest of us to the same fate! Men still have yet to prove who they are! We are not set in stone! Valar, let them live!_

The Elessar burst into light then, and it burned white-hot against my neck.

I didn't try to stop it. If I had to die – if my life was now to be taken as it should have when I threw myself off the cliff – maybe that would make the Valar understand I meant what I said, maybe that would be the repayment that would allow Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Haldir, my sister, my brother, my mother to _live_.

_Legolas, please understand._

I could see him – dimly, fuzzily, blurred – in front of me, pulling at the Elessar and mouthing words I couldn't hear.

_Legolas, I love you._

Then the earth stopped.

A woman appeared in the middle of the army, so suddenly and silently that I would have mistaken her for a hallucination.

But there was something . . . different about her.

No one else seemed to notice her, even though she was clearly out of this world, with dark and long tresses laying about her and a bright silver girdle gracing her flowing, ethereal clothes. Time seemed to slow as she approached. She walked towards me with deliberate, slow steps, almost flowing like a liquid more graceful than the flowing water of the Nimrodel, or any river known to the races of Middle-earth. Her face was like a goddess – kind and stern, calm and angry, powerful and passive.

She stopped in front of me, and her eyes met mine, orbs of a color I couldn't begin to describe.

"_Estel_," she said, her voice full of a melody that was once joyous and beautiful and somber and sorrowful – and yet she spoke not a word.

Perhaps it was in my mind, or perhaps my eyes were deceiving me, or perhaps I was dreaming.

"_Estel Elessariel_," she repeated, her voice like that of flowing water, birds' songs, and lively laughter all in one. "_You are a daughter of the line of Kings, descended from the noblest bloodlines to walk this earth, heiress to kingdoms far grander and greater than any here. Are you really willing to die for such a paltry exchange – the life of those around you?_"

I replied without thinking. "I would die a thousand times to save the life of just one, Your Majesty."

Her expression eased – although I couldn't remember when it had been stressed – and she sighed, the sound of wind blowing gently through a forest.

"_So be it._"

And she bent over me, and lifted a hand, and pressed a single finger to the glowing Elessar around my neck.

The world erupted in color and sound and feel and taste and more – and then I knew nothing but an all-consuming blackness as my eyes slipped shut.

"_So be it, my child._"

And then I knew nothing.


	69. Chapter 68

**_Chapter Sixty-Eight_**  
(everything is spoken in Elvish)

~ _Aragorn_ ~  
I ducked into the tent. "How are they?"

Eldarion looked up, his face wane and haggard. His sister wasn't much better; Haldir had nearly had to carry her off to bed because she had refused to sleep and stop tending to her sister and Frodo and Sam and as a result nearly collapsed from the lack of rest. But thankfully, with Elladan and Elrohir here, we had the reason to tell her to get some sleep and let the sons of Elrond take over.

"There is no change," he answered, his voice even worse than his face.

I resisted the temptation to do anything. It had been almost a full day since we had left Mordor, and in that time Estel had not stirred once. Sam and Frodo, I understood; but Estel . . .

All Legolas had been able to tell us was that she had suddenly fall as though in pain when the Eye of Sauron had exploded, and then the Elessar had started shimmering when she had frozen. Moments later, the Elessar had burned once before flickering out – and Estel hadn't awoken since then.

It was frustrating. Even Mithrandir was at a loss to explain her collapse, except that he felt something wasn't quite normal about it.

Which was an ambiguous description at best.

Legolas too had not left Estel's side either, an immense show of affection that had many of the Men looking at him and beginning to realize that Elves were like Men in some respects. That had me hopeful in terms of mending the relationships between our races.

But I still hoped for Estel's awakening first.

We all did, for we all wanted an explanation about what she had spoken. This was the second time she had called herself Queen of Gondor, Arnor, and Rohan – and the last heir of Isildur – only now everyone had seen it, not just Legolas and me.

Haldir ducked suddenly into the tent. "No change, I presume, then?" he asked, looking from my face to Eldarion's. When we both shook our heads, he sighed. "I wish I could offer comfort to Legolas. . . But he will not take it. He is too proud – and too worried about Estel. She means a great deal to him, a great deal more than I thought."

Eldarion nodded. "Yes, she does," he agreed. "And her devotion to him as just as strong."

"That is surprising?"

"For a girl who has never showed interest in courting or love or marriage, yes," Eldarion informed him. "Estel was too young when . . . well, when everything happened. She had not yet even come out, much less start looking for a prospective husband."

"True," Haldir murmured after a moment. "I forget, sometimes, that you are a Man, Eldarion, and your ways are not ours."

I shrugged. "So do we all. And we all understand Legolas's grief."

Eldarion cast a sharp glance my way. "She will not die, you know," he told me. "Not with the Ring destroyed, and Sauron toppled."

"Die?" I shook my head. "No, she will not. But I think . . . and I agree . . . that she must go to Valinor. I will not force her to remain behind, and wither as the earth dies. . . No, I will find another woman to be Queen."

"But no one will ever take her place, will they?" Haldir interrupted softly.

I glanced at him in surprise; he smiled wanly.

"I love Tinúviel," he reminded me. "She faced the same struggle as you. . . Only she does not have a choice. She will wither, and fade, and die, and with her the beauty of the Elves shall fade as well, for she is the last – and I know that. Even were I to leave right now and let my wounds heal in Valinor, no person would ever again take that place in my heart, and it would be hollow for all eternity until we met again beyond the circles of the world."

There was silence as we digested his words.

Then Eldarion commented, "You have great faith in that day, Haldir."

Haldir laughed suddenly. "I must, Elessarion, I must. How else can I live with the knowledge that she shall die and I shall be forced to continue on – alone?"

The words struck us all, and the laughter faded.

"I hope Legolas has the same view," Eldarion muttered.

It was now Haldir's turn to give Eldarion an odd look at his words.

"You do not believe your sister shall awaken?" he asked, surprise clear in his tone.

Eldarion hesitated before shaking his head very slowly, wearily. He looked like he had gained a century of age within these few minutes as he said quietly, "We have always believed that one day someone would have to pay for how grievously our line had failed the Valar. That debt can only have been increased, now, with the survival of our family. And now my sister has fallen unconscious and has not stirred. What else can I think but that?"

~ _Legolas_ ~  
I listened to Eldarion's words, horror striking what was left of my heart that could feel.

I was numb, and cold, and silent.

Estel was the reason I _lived_ now. I could not live if she died – but alas, unlike the Peredhel, I could not chose the path of mortality and follow Estel into the Halls of Mandos and beyond, else I would have in a second.

What was life without the love that made it possible?

I let my gaze sweep over Estel's still figure; even in slumber, her beauty remained untouched. Her long dark hair, her expressive face, her lovely voice, her musical laughter, her closed blue-grey eyes. . . I remembered them as perfectly as anything, but I would traded all of that for her to awake and make new ones.

But still . . . Eldarion's thoughts plagued me.

They made sense.

A lot of sense.

Terrible, horrible, but perfect sense.

There was always a price for a miracle. Always. Lúthien Tinúviel and Beren Barahirion had returned from the dead; but in return, they had been able to suffer a second, mortal death. Idril Celebrindel and Tuor had been able to account themselves among the Elves; but in return, Tuor had lost connection with his son and had not been able to see any other Man since. Eärendil and Elwing had journeyed to Valinor and won for the Peredhel the right to choose; but in return, they had been sundered from Middle-earth, their sons, and the company of Men forevermore.

The miracle was great; the price was high.

The Valar had saved the entire family – Lady Kiria, Tinúviel, Eldarion, their father, and Estel. That was a great miracle. One life seemed almost too poor a price to pay. . .

But it was a price all the same.

I was not part of Estel's family, but they had impacted me more than anything else in this war. _Estel_ had impacted me more than anything.

I couldn't begin to imagine life without her.

Yet it seemed perhaps I might be facing that fate soon enough.

I listened to the shallow, slow breathing of the one I loved, and I knelt beside her, and grasped her cold, still hand, and pressed my lips to her cheek.

"Do not die, Estel," I whispered. "Do not die and leave me alone, _meleth-nin_."

~ _Estel_ ~  
The first thing I became aware of was the sensation of a warm hand stroking my hair, lips pressed to my cheek, and the exhaustion in my body.

I opened my eyes.

Legolas knelt beside me, his face tight with agony and grief and indecision.

I didn't understand.

"Legolas?"

His eyes shot open, and they lit up with the most emotions I'd ever seen in him – except when we had declared our love for each other, of course. But this was very, very, very close to that. Very, very close.

"Estel?" he breathed.

"Who else?" I retorted, almost childishly, as I sat up – but I felt the need to lighten to mood – to do _something_.

He tenderly wrapped his arms around me, as though I was as delicate as glass, and I let him. I could feel his anxiety and his affection, and I shared it in equal amounts. I wanted to be sure _he_ was safe as well, after I had passed out and probably given them all a . . .

Oh _Valar_. Legolas would have gone crazy when I had

I pulled back, surprising him as I glanced nervously over him. But he accepted it smoothly, speaking before I could.

"How do you feel?" he asked, brushing his fingers along my forehead as he sat besides me and kept me as close as possible.

I hesitated. I hadn't really done a check of my own condition; my first concern had been _him_. I had passed out, and surely in protecting me he could have been hurt, perhaps even seriously. And he would be the one too proud to admit it too.

My first realization upon doing this was that I felt perfectly fine – except for the strangest bruise where the Elessar lay upon my neck. . .

The Elessar.

Memories rushed back – the earthquake, the ground crumbling, the Elessar burning, the _woman_ –

"Legolas."

"Hmm?"

"What happened?"

He gazed at me with clear eyes. "I do not know. . . No one knows. We were hoping that _you_ could tell us, _meleth_."

I sighed. "I don't know either. . . What says Mithrandir?"

"Only that it was not normal, and that there must have been great power behind whatever happened," Legolas answered with a slight shrug.

_It wasn't normal, and it was a great deal of power. But the only question now is – why am I still alive?_ For I could clearly remember pledging to die a thousand times just to save one of them, if that was what I had to do; I had sworn to die so they could live, so my family could live, so _Legolas_ could live. And I could clearly remember the presence of the woman, whoever she was. . .

But try as I might, the harder I attempted to bring an image of her to mind, the more it slipped away.

All I was left with was the sense that this woman had known me, somehow, and in ways no one else had. As though we were . . . related . . . or something.

"Estel?"

"Yes?"

"Do you really recall nothing, _meleth_?"

I hesitated. I hated to lie to him, especially after he had just called me "meleth" – but how could I possibly begin to describe what had occurred? _I_ could barely begin to wonder how I could justify it to myself, much less him. . .

"Estel."

"I am sorry. . . I just . . . I can't . . ." I cast about for a way, any way, to start. Finally, I asked, "Did you see her?"

"Who?"

Legolas seemed genuinely curious, but also genuinely confused – but I could have sworn I had seen the woman before I passed out. . .

Yet there was no clearer way for me to articulate the description.

"_Her._"

"Estel! You're awake!"

We both turned, surprised, to see Eldarion, Haldir, and Aragorn enter. My brother's face was filled with joy; Aragorn's, with relief; while Haldir's eyes met Legolas's, and I saw in the silent exchange the bond of comradeship between the two, founded and sealed by their equal love for my sister and me.

That filled me with content, and I reclined against Legolas happily until Aragorn interrupted the silence.

"Who is this 'her'?"

I glanced up, startled, at the question. I had not been aware they had been listening to us; perhaps were even just outside and able to hear every word.

I hesitated, but I could not face lying to Legolas, much less all of them.

"A woman," I began reluctantly. "She appeared in the middle of the army when the ground was shaking, and she spoke to me – "

Eldarion leaned forward. "What did she look like?"

"I . . . I don't know. I can't explain it," I admitted in a rush. "I can barely remember what happened, but I _know_ she was there, I just know it. It's the only thing I remember clearly, she being there. It was like . . . I don't know . . . a dream of a dream. It is all hazy and blurry – but I know I remember it. That's the only thing I am perfectly certain of, and I . . ."

My voice trailed off when I realized that everyone was staring at me. And not in a good way either.

They didn't believe me.

Eldarion moved first. "Estel," he said, his tone almost pitying, "I think you need some more sleep. . . You are still healing."

"You don't believe me."

He scowled.

"Do you or don't you?" I demanded.

He lowered his gaze. "Estel, no one remembers a woman. Everyone who is conscious would have remembered that, if it had existed. _I_ would remember that. Who would not report something as . . . as . . . preposterous as – ?"

"_Preposterous_?" I interrupted, rising to my feet in one abrupt movement. "Is that all you think of me, _brother_? That I am preposterous simply because I cannot explain what I feel? For if that is the case, I must remind you that you may be the heir of our line – but _I_ am the leader of the Believers. And _you_, son of Elessar, are the one who could not sense your own father before you!"

With that, I stormed from their presence – but even the musty, fierce wind was not enough to wipe away the tears that ran unchecked down my cheeks.


	70. Chapter 69

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! I am extremely grateful that this chapter is done, so I can finally move on to what happens _after_ the end of RotK. . . . . . . . Stay tuned to find out!

* * *

**_Chapter Sixty-Nine_**

~ _Éomer_ ~  
When I passed by the temporary stable for the horses, I was surprised to see Estel there. She was still, but her lips moved as she whispered whatever she was saying to the horse, whose head was bent towards her, its eyes closed in appreciation as Estel continued to comb her fingers through its mane.

I strode towards her, surprised. _Should she be up after her collapse?_ She must have only recently recovered. . . Was it wise for her to be walking around?

"Estel," I began as I approached.

She jumped in surprise, and I blinked in surprise myself. I had never yet managed to surprise any of them, much less Estel. _She must be really distracted._ _Or_, I amended when I caught sight of her reddened eyes, _really upset._

"Lord Éomer," she mumbled, her voice as raw as her eyes.

I had meant to ask her if she should be up and about; but then I changed my mind.

"Are you well, Estel?"

"Yes. Of course, else I would not be up."

"Hmm." I gestured to her eyes. "Your appearance would indicate otherwise," I said gently, giving her the opportunity to speak if she so wished. If not . . . If not, then I would not pry. If it truly caused her grief, she might not reveal it, after all.

She was silent for a long time.

Then, softly, she said, "It is hard . . . to be . . . the youngest. I find myself . . . separated from them sometimes. They do not believe me, and they do not understand me, for I stand in the middle path – neither Man nor Elf. I am neither immortal nor mortal, but something in between; it drives a wedge between me and them."

I blinked. Her words were . . . strange.

"Of course your brother accepts you," I said. "He is your brother."

A soft smile curved her lips. "Sometimes," she replied, "it is those who we love most who are most alien to us. . . As to acceptance – acceptance is not understanding, Éomer. You should know that. Especially in terms of your sister, Éowyn."

I blinked in surprise yet again. "What happened then?"

Her smile faltered. "I . . . They asked me," she said slowly, "what had happened when I collapsed. But they do not believe what I tell them."

"What did you tell them?"

Her gaze flickered once to me, as if she was gauging my reaction and whether or not to tell me.

I waited silently, but inside I felt frustration well up inside of me. If only Legolas hadn't been here . . . or if she had chosen me over him . . . then things would be different. I was sure that I could handle accepting whatever she told me. And then I could soothe that itch inside of me that told me I should go to her, and put my arms around her, and promise her that she wasn't going crazy, and kiss her until she forgot and all was well.

But I couldn't.

I could not break her trust like that.

Still . . .

But before I could contemplate actually touching her, she spoke.

"Before I fell unconscious," she began slowly, "I think – I _know_ I saw a woman in the middle of the army. She spoke to me . . . and . . . well, _then_ I fell unconscious. But Legolas and the others – even Eldarion – think it is just a product of my imagination and exhaustion. I know what I saw! And if it _was_ a dream, then it has all the more . . . What? Are you laughing at me?"

I shook my head, still chuckling.

She glared at me.

"Oh, Estel . . . Is that it? Is _that_ was has you so worked up?" I shook my head again, continuing to laugh. "That is . . . well, that is not hard to believe."

"It's not?"

Estel sounded so childishly innocent and hurt that I stopped laughing.

I stepped closer to her, forgetting my earlier promise not to touch her, and took her hands in mine. She didn't pull back, but hesitation shone in her eyes, usually so clear with emotion. But today they were muddied with hurt and confusion and rejection.

"Estel," I said quietly, "do not let yourself be put down by such a trivial thing as this. Have you forgotten who you are? And what you have done? You sensed your own father when your brother did not – and you barely remember him. You fought alongside me and the others, as equals, in battle, and then returned to tend to those who did not escape unscathed – as you did. You have done your share and _more_, Estel. So what if they do not believe you? If anything, they should accept things without question now, for you have proven your senses far greater than theirs."

The hurt died slowly from her face, and for a second I thought I caught the hint of the sparkle that normally reigned in her eyes.

She pulled away with a sigh then, leaning against the horse and wrapping her arms protectively around her body. "I don't know, Éomer. . . You have given me a lot to think over."

I nodded. It was understandable.

But I did not reach out again, as I had once yearned to.

I had just touched her now, and in that I had realized why Estel had rejected me. There had been sparks between us, yes; but even now I was forced to admit that they had been driven merely by attraction based on person, and not on personality. I had clung longer than her, blinded as she was not; but now I realized it.

Estel was not the one meant for me.

I still regretted that she had chosen an Elf over me, but perhaps for one like her, where Elven blood flowed as strongly as that of Men, it was right. She was correct, at least, that an Elf would understand that better than a Man would.

"Estel."

"Hmm?"

"I think I owe you a thank you."

Confused blue-grey eyes lifted to my own. "What?" she said, totally distracted, the confusion re-entering her eyes.

I fought a smile at this confusion, innocent but in a sweet way. "For rejecting me."

She stiffened. "Éomer, I . . . I am so sorry. I didn't – "

"It is fine, Estel. I . . . I think I know what happened. I know what you meant." I deliberately raised my gaze to hers, locking our eyes. "I know why you rejected me, and I wholeheartedly agree. You were right." I paused. The words were painful, but not as heartbreakingly so. Just a blow to my pride, and my past judgment. But what King could I be if I could not admit my own mistakes?

"We . . . are not . . . meant for each other. We _will_ walk different paths."

Estel was silent for a very long time, but she did not blink, or look away, or stutter out more apologies.

Finally, she murmured, "Thank you for telling me. . . It was inexcusable, what I did, but . . . at least . . . it did not completely destroy our friendship."

My heart lightened, and I smiled at her. "Friends then?"

And she smiled back brilliantly, and hugged me briefly, and agreed, a lilting laugh in her voice, "Friends."

~ _Legolas_ ~  
I let out a frustrated sigh.

I had tried to follow Estel after she had stormed out of the tent, but, alas, she had been trained too well in the art of evasion. Even my senses were not enough to track her down when she truly wished to vanish and not be found.

More to the evidence that this relationship was equal in every way.

I may have been an Elf, and therefore stronger and swifter and immortal – but she had qualities of her own that, try as I might, I could not match.

"Legolas?"

I started, turning towards the voice.

"Éomer," I said, unable to disguise the surprise I felt. We had not spoken since . . . well, we hadn't ever spoken much anyways. I had stayed with Aragorn; he, with the King. Especially now, with the awkwardness of the both of us having feelings about the same girl, feelings that could not be avoided – and then the even more awkward of her having to choose between us . . . and having chosen me.

I wasn't ungrateful for her choice. I loved her – would have loved her even if she had chosen him.

But . . . still. It wasn't exactly at the top of my list of things to do, to speak to my rival in her heart. Even if his rivalry faded with each passing day.

And yet . . . And yet I saw no bitterness, no anger, no regret.

Nothing.

As if he had never loved her in the first place. Or had loved her as a sister, and graciously accepted the fact that he had lost her.

It made me almost suspicious. Men were not known for giving up so easily.

"You seek Estel?"

His tone made it a question; his expression made it a statement. His eyes were deliberate, but in a calm, resigned way . . . as if he hadn't just accepted Estel's choosing me; he now wholly supported it.

I answered anyways, even though I was unsure as to what he meant or where he was going with it. "Yes, I am." Risking a little more, I asked, "Do you know where she is?"

Éomer hesitated briefly before nodding. "Yes, I do."

Silence.

"Will you tell me?" I prompted.

He hesitated again. "Yes."

Silence.

I started losing my patience. Perhaps I had read him wrong. Perhaps he really did still see me as a rival in her heart.

"Where is she, Éomer?"

Something flitted across his expression – approval, satisfaction, understanding. . . none of them quite fit. But I felt sure that he was not angry; there was no glint in his eyes, no tension in his arms, nothing. What was going on?

"I will tell you, Legolas, but first, you must listen," he said abruptly.

"Is she hurt?" I demanded, my patience wearing to thin ice. If she was hurt . . . if he had hurt her . . . .

"Listen, and you will understand," he insisted, holding his ground even as I allowed my anger to flash across my face.

That impressed me.

"I am listening."

"She is not hurt – physically. But you did hurt her." Before I could interrupt, he held up a hand, and continued, "Please. Just listen. You know Estel as well as I do; she is too polite, sometimes, to express her true feelings to those she loves."

He hesitated, waiting for my agreement – which I gave. It was true.

"When you asked her what happened when she . . . fell unconscious," he began again, "she told you what she believed happened. You proceeded to ask her if she was well, and prescribe more rest. You told her that no one had seen a woman, and that you, therefore, were inclined to believe that she had dreamed it than it might have actually happened. _That_, Legolas, is where you made your fatal mistake.

"Don't you see, don't you understand just how much Estel needs love? She has been shorn of it for so long in her youth, and you sympathize with that and vow to protect her – yet you deny her the support she needs when she needs it most.

"And how hard it is to believe such a thing? Estel is neither Man nor Elf – you have said so yourself. She has seen things, she belongs to things, she _is_ things that none of us can imagine. She's sensed things we would never sense even if it was right in front of us – remember the incident with her father? – and she hasn't been wrong about them either.

"You know her history even better than I, Legolas. But now I wonder . . . do you really know love, if you cannot give it to Estel when she needs it most?"

Éomer stopped then, and his look was one of gathering his control to him again.

"I have said more than I intended," he said quietly, simple words after the ringing treatment he had just given me. "But perhaps it is worth it, if you realize what you have done."

He turned to leave.

I caught his shoulder. "Wait."

He turned back, his eyes wary as he looked at me.

"I . . ." I swallowed. "Estel may be neither Man nor Elf . . . but I believe that she favors the side of Men, and I think you understand that side more than I ever will. And so I thank you, for reminding me of that." I softened my voice. "I think she would have been happy, had she chosen you."

"Perhaps," he replied, just as softly. "But not as happy as she will be with you."

"Once I learn."

"Yes, once you learn." He shook his head. "Now, go and find her. She's by the horses."

"Éomer – "

"_Go!_ She's waited long enough."

"~I am in your debt, Éomer Éomundion,~" I murmured, bowing once before finally turning and leaving.

Sure enough, I found her right where he had said she was.

I went right up to her, and she turned as I approached, and she lowered her gaze, her expression shy as she avoided my eyes.

I cupped her chin. "Estel."

"~I . . . I am so, so sorry, Legolas,~" she blurted out suddenly. "~I should not have said that. . . I spoke badly, and I cry your pardon."

I frowned. "~I did not come to seek apologies,~" I said gently.

She flinched.

I knelt before her, feeling the truth in what Éomer had spoken. I _had_ hurt her – a lot – by not believing her. And now I regretted it with everything I had in me, and more. She was the most important thing I had.

"~Estel. . . I do not know how to say this, but I think it is _I_ who should cry _your_ pardon. I treated you more abominably than any of your captors did, and for that I will never forgive myself. You . . . will always . . . deserve much more, Estel. Always. And I swear to you, I will never again falter in giving you as much as I can, a paltry sum though it may be.~"

Estel pulled my hands, forcing me to stand.

"~All I want from you, Legolas,~" she said softly, "~is your love.~"

I gazed into her eyes, seeing the sincerity there, the innocence, the love, the faith. She was so beautiful. . .

I touched her cheek. "~Then you deserve far better than me.~"

She laughed, and replied, "~You are the best I have, Legolas. And you are the best thing that ever happened to me; I know it.~"

Then she laughed again, and hugged me, and pressed her lips to mine, and I considered our argument resolved.


	71. Chapter 70

_Chapter Seventy_

~ _Kiria_ ~  
The whole of Minas Tirith was in an uproar about preparing for the coronation of Aragorn – who, in just a few hours, would become Elessar Telcontar, the first King of Gondor and Arnor of the Reunited Kingdom. Guests of all positions were arriving to pay homage and witness this miracle of the beginning of the Fourth Age, the age of peace, of prosperity, of unity . . . and of passing. For even as Men poured into Gondor and thence to Minas Tirith, one by one Elves were quietly passing into the Grey Havens and into the ships yonder.

The end of the Third Age was the end of their Age, for now was the beginning of the Dominion of Men, the Fourth Age of Middle-earth. Only a few Elves still remained even now, and almost all would go to the Grey Havens by the end of the year.

I had removed myself from these preparations. I could feel the sorrow at the end of my kin beating in my heart – my entire family did. But that sorrow was far outweighed by the joy and fear that had risen up inside of me . . . now that my husband had been returned to me.

He was barely a shadow of the Man I remembered, but at least he was alive.

Aragorn had delivered him to me personally when they had returned from Mordor, after assuring me that all three of my children were alive and giving me quite a scare. Our blood was the same, but it was clear to me that his Elven upbringing gave me the advantage of stealth and silence.

I brushed my fingers along my husband's forehead. He was thin, and there was not a patch of skin that wasn't bandaged or bruised or had a poultice of _athelas_ on it. Thankfully, though, there were no life-threatening injuries and no

But he was alive.

Even now, I could feel his breath against my hand, reassuring me.

"Elessar," I murmured, feeling the joy at being able to say his name again. "Oh, Elessar. . . What have you been through?"

"~My lady Kiria,~" a sudden, formal, musical voice said.

I jumped, startled, and retracted my hand from my husband's forehead. That was not Legolas's voice, nor any of my children, nor Aragorn – but who else spoke Elvish here?

Three Elves stood in the doorway, tall, majestic, ethereal. Dark brown hair graced their heads, and grey eyes their faces. They were almost triplets in appearance, save for their clothes and for that one bore a silver circlet around his brow. He seemed . . . older and wiser, perhaps, in some way I could not say. But power radiated from him in ways it did not for the others.

I dropped a quick curtsy. Elves would not mean me harm. . .

"~Well met,~" I said. "~But I fear you have the advantage, for I know who you are.~"

One of the younger Elves grinned almost mischievously. "~Do you not? Can you not guess as to our origin?~"

I started to shake my head.

"~Enough,~" the oldest Elf commanded suddenly. His voice reflected the aura of power and the wisdom, but in there was a hint of . . . familiarity? No, impossible. . . "~Tease her not; she has enough troubles as it is.~"

"~Yes, Father,~" the two Elves said at once. They grinned once at each other and bowed to me before vanishing.

I blinked. _Father?_

The oldest Elf approached on silent footsteps, seemingly to glide instead of walk. "~How fares your husband, Lady Kiria?~" he asked gently.

"~Well. He shows no sign of permanent injury.~"

He rested his fingers on Elessar's forehead and closed his eyes briefly. Then he straightened and turned to me.

"~You still cannot venture a guess as to who I am?~" he questioned.

I shook my head.

"~My name,~" he said, "~is Lord Elrond. I would say that I hail from Imladris, but I fear you already know that, and repetition of knowledge known is always tedious. . . And forgive the teasing of my sons, Elladan and Elrohir; the centuries have not yet tamed their wild streaks, I fear.~"

I stared. _The_ Lord Elrond, tending to my husband?

"~I . . . I am honored to make your acquaintance, my Lord,~" I stammered out.

He caught my shoulder as I tried to curtsy again. "~No, no, none of that,~" he admonished gently. "~I know of your history, Lady Kiria; I know of the bloodline that runs in your veins. You may simply be a daughter of the line of Rohan, but the fact remains that you married into the line of my brother's descent. I will still consider you one of my family.~"

"~You are too kind, Lord Elrond.~"

He smiled. "~Your daughter said much the same. . . You are to be commended for raising them so well.~"

"~I fear I had little hand in their upbringing, especially that of Estel,~" I replied.

One eyebrow arched. "~And you are humble as well.~" He straightened, gazing at me with the air of one reassured and business concluded. "~In you, Lady Kiria, and your children, at least, my faith in the race of Men may yet be revived. . . That, I thank you for. For now, I must tend to another matter of my own. I will see to your husband when I return.~"

He was almost out the door when I called, "~Lord Elrond.~"

"~Yes?"

"~You know you must learn to let go,~" I said, startling myself for being so bold as to say that, out loud, to _Lord Elrond Peredhel_.

"~I fear I must,~" was all he said.

"~He will not let you down nor let her suffer. He loves her as you loved Celebrían. Know that, and let her go with peace in your heart, Lord Elrond. You _will_ meet again beyond the circles of the world. We all will.~"

He was silent, with only a sigh to mark that he had heard me. Then –

"~I thank you, Lady Kiria, but even that cannot soothe loss.~"

"~I know.~"

Then he swept out of the room, and I returned my gaze to my husband. Yes, that knowledge would not reassure me either. . . Nor would it soothe my children when finally Elessar and I returned the gift, and accepted the boon and burden of Men. Or their loves, when Estel and Tinúviel passed as well, and left Legolas and Haldir grief-stricken, alone, and in mourning.

_Yes, what a tangled life we weave. That is why we are Peredhel, after all. . ._

~ _Aragorn_ ~  
Mithrandir lifted his hands and stepped back, his face solemn and proud. The crown, silver and gold, rested heavily on my head, as did the voluminous cloak and many layers of fancily adorned clothing I was wearing for this occasion; but the burden of what now lay on my shoulders rested even heavier.

"Now come the days of the king," Mithrandir announced, letting his voice ring through the courtyard. "May they be blessed."

This would be my life now. I was King. The responsibility for the Reunited Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor was mine, and mine alone.

_Too late to turn back now_, I told myself. _You were born for this._

So I took a deep breath, calmed my mind, squared my shoulders, and turned to face the crowd. The crowd of – now – my subjects.

They cheered.

"This day does not belong to one man," I said, "but to all. Let us together rebuild this world . . . that we may share in the days of peace."

And while they cheered and as white petals cascaded and blew around me, I cleared my throat and prepared to sing the tribute I had devised. It would be my way of honoring my ancestry, both to Elendil and further back, to Elros himself, the first king of Númenor – the same way I was the first king of the Reunited Kingdom of Elendil's sons.

As I sung, I walked among the crowd, nodding to those who bowed and smiling to all.

"~Out of the Great Sea to Middle-Earth I am come. In this place will I abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the world.~"

It was both a beginning and an end, bittersweet in every way.

But then again, so was my Kingship.

The world of Men finally had a King again. Sauron, the greatest threat to Middle-earth, was cast down. Middle-earth now had peace, between Men and Elves and Dwarfs and all other races. This was the beginning of the Fourth Age, the age of peace, and I would be one of its greatest, foremost leaders.

A leader who would stand alone.

I greeted Legolas, who approached me with a silver circlet of a prince on his brow and clad in the garments of Mirkwood royalty. At his side stood a smiling Estel, dressed as beautifully as she had been in the Golden Hall of Meduseld at the conclusion of the Battle of Helms' Deep. To their left, I could spot Eldarion, attired in the clothes of the Dúnedain, and Haldir and Tinúviel, Haldir in the clothes of Lothlórien and Tinúviel in similar garments to that of her namesake ere when Beren first found her.

Legolas and I clasped shoulders.

"~Thank you,~" I told him. "~Thank you all. For everything.~"

Estel smiled at me, her eyes dancing with amusement and affection. "~You need not thank us for a debt repaid,~" she said quietly.

For a second, the pain of Arwen's passing to Valinor threatened to overwhelm me as I saw how Legolas and Estel smiled so lovingly, so tenderly at each other. They had each other. They were complete. They would not stand alone . . . not as I would.

But then, quite suddenly, Legolas tilted his head to his left at the same time that Estel stepped away.

Startled, I looked beyond them, wondering what they could possibly be –

A standard of the White Tree was there – that was the standard of the King, of Isildur's heir. . . But why was Lord Elrond there beside the bearer? Why were . . .

My thoughts stopped abruptly when the standard slowly moved, revealing the face of the bearer.

Arwen.

I stood stock-still, too stunned to do anything but stare and drink in the sight of Arwen, so beautiful, _alive_ . . . here . . .

I was barely aware of Legolas slipping out from under my hand, or of him rejoining Estel, or of the two of them smiling at me as Legolas placed his arm around her waist and she leaned against him affectionately.

I _was_ aware, though, when Lord Elrond shifted quietly behind Arwen . . . and she took a tentative step in my direction.

She stopped before me, her face a mix of hope, wariness, and fear. Very slowly, she bowed her head, as if to pay homage to me as the King – even though no King of Men could ever presume to command _her_, Lady Arwen Undómiel, daughter of Elrond Peredhel and Celebrían, Evenstar of her entire people and of Middle-earth.

I touched her chin, lifting it, seeking in her eyes for any sign of any regret, any fear, any change. . .

I saw none.

So I simply leaned forward, grabbed her, and kissed her.

~ _Estel_ ~  
"~And at last they are happy,~" I murmured absently, watching with fond affection as Aragorn and Arwen embraced, Arwen laughing with joy and love on her face and Aragorn looking as though he was the happiest Man in Middle-earth.

Legolas turned and kissed the top of my head. "~They will not be the only ones,~" he said quietly.

I smiled up at him, seeing the smile returned with the same selfless and enduring love.

"~No, they will not,~" I agreed.

I returned my gaze to Arwen and Aragorn just in time to see them stop suddenly, and see Aragorn raise his hand in admonishment and step forward.

Then, just as suddenly, Aragorn bowed his head and knelt.

The rest of us followed moments later – all of us, young and old, royalty and commoner, Elf and Man. For all of us, _all_ of us, owed a debt that could never be repaid to the four Aragorn was now bowing to. And it was only right that they understand the enormity of that debt, and how unique their success – and sacrifice – was.

Frodo, Sam, Pippin, and Merry.

They had given and lost more than any of us, and they would be remembered as no other heroes would be for what they had done.

I was sure of it.

Legolas suddenly stiffened by my side, his head whipping to the right. I looked at him confused, even as his arm tensed around my waist. What could possibly be wrong?

There was a light tug on my dress.

"Lady Estel," a young woman whispered urgently. "You must come. At once. Please."

I straightened. "What is it?"

The woman twisted her hands, clearly in dismay for whatever she was about to say. The worry inside of me doubled, and then tripled, in size. Something must really be wrong – the only question was _what_?

"Speak," Legolas ordered.

She looked up, and took a deep breath, and delivered the fatal words then.

"It's your father."


	72. Chapter 71

**_Chapter Seventy-One_**

~ _Legolas_ ~  
Just a few doors away from the room where her father was housed, I reached out, grabbed Estel's arm, and pulled her around, to me. She let out a startled squeak of surprise, but she went along with it obligingly, resting in my embrace as trustingly as the look in her eyes as she gazed up at me, curious about my actions – but not alarmed.

"Estel," I murmured. "~I have to speak. Now. Before . . . I have to speak.~"

"~What bothers you?~" she asked, tilting her head.

I hesitated. I loved her, but I knew how much her father meant to her, and I did not want her hurt. So I would have to word this very, very carefully.

"~Estel . . . if . . . if the worst situation is true . . . about your father . . . I . . .~" I sighed. "~I will not be able to empathize, _meleth_, but please, _please_ do not hold back your emotions. I know how much he means to you. Don't try to be brave for me. Just . . . please, Estel.~"

Her eyes, luminous in the bright sun, searched mine briefly. "~Are you sure?~" she asked uneasily. "~I do not want to burden you with troubles that are not your own, Legolas.~"

I stroked her hair gently, careful to maintain eye contact as I spoke. It was not as important to those of the First Kindred while in casual conversation, but I knew that among Men, prolonged eye contact generally was considered a sign of complete, honest truth. I had lived among Men long enough to know that, at least, and I did not want to, at such a tumultuous time, confuse Estel – or remind her just how she was caught in between Men like Éomer and Elves like me.

"~So long as our hearts beat as one, and you are in agreement with me,~" I told her softly, "~your troubles will be my troubles. Always. You are no burden, Estel, and even if you were . . . well, you would be a burden I would be pleased to carry.~"

She lowered her eyes shyly, something that made me laugh. Even after all this time, she could not help react as her human instincts compelled her too.

Not that I was complaining, of course.

"But . . ."

I pressed my fingers to her lips. "~None of that, Estel,~" I chided. "~What is done is done. . . Unless, of course, you change your mind.~"

Her eyes, wide with shock, flitted to mine. "~No!~"

"~As I thought, then.~" I shifted to pull her closer to me. "~Do I have your word then?~"

"~About what?~"

"~That no matter what will be revealed beyond these doors about your father and his condition, you will _not_ hide it from me. Promise me, Estel.~"

"~Why?~" she pressed.

I hesitated, tempted to look away as I had seen her do before in such sensitive topics of conversation. Elves were, after all, careful about when and how they displayed emotions – especially strong ones – and I did not wish to become an unrestrained monster to Estel.

"~I . . . To see you hurt, Estel, is the worst thing I can imagine. . . I cannot imagine a worse pain in the entire universe, no matter how long I live. And to know that you . . . are . . . holding back . . . to try and protect me . . . that you are concealing your grief and suffering all the more because you feel that it is a burden to reveal them to me. . . That would be a pain I could never forget.~"

I closed my eyes with a sigh. I had said more – a lot more – than I had intended to.

It was all true, yes, but . . . Elves were not in the habit of revealing so much to another, even those we cherished as soulmates and lovers.

"Legolas?"

Estel's voice was soft when her fingers brushed my cheek.

I opened my eyes and glanced down at her, to see her blue-grey eyes swimming with small tears and powerful emotions – and was afraid, for a second, that I had overwhelmed her.

But then she buried her face in my neck, wrapping her arms around me, and whispered, "~I am sorry. . . I had no idea that it caused you to be . . . like . . . this. . .

In an even softer voice, she said, "~I promise, Legolas.~"

I tightened my own grip around her, grateful in ways I could never ever for the life of me describe for how much she trusted me. I was sure that she had never consented such a thing to anyone else, save perhaps her family. But for me . . . someone she had only known for such a short while compared to a life . . . It was a big gift for her to give, and I was fully aware of that enormity of it – and therefore, all the more grateful.

"~Thank you, little one,~" I murmured.

The mood shifted almost instantly.

Estel lifted her head from my neck to stare accusingly at me. "~Little one?~" she repeated in derision. "~I'm not little!~"

I chuckled. "~To me you are, _meleth_,~" I reminded her.

She sniffed indignantly and started to pull away. "~Can I see my father now?~"

I sighed and kissed the top of her head. If I could have my way, I would have stopped her – let her remember her father as he had been, happy and healthy and alive. But I couldn't do that to her. Estel had to make her own choices.

"~Yes.~"

And with dread in my heart, I let her go.

~ _Elessar_ ~  
The doors opened, and I jumped without thinking. I was so used to just . . . flinching, really, when _anyone_ came close to me or at the littlest sound – because even the smallest Orc with a small knife could have put me in a world of pain within three seconds, tops. It had become habit, quite sadly, but, my Kiria told me, understandable.

Even now, she smiled at me reassuringly.

But then I saw who stood frozen in the door, and my own jaw dropped.

Estel, my loving, carefree, beautiful daughter, stood in the doorway, her blue-grey eyes wide with shock, her mouth agape, her entire body completely still in the way only Elves could stand.

She called, "~Father!~" at about the same time I managed to gasp her name.

And then she was racing towards me, and throwing her arms around me, and sobbing the word "Father" over and over and over again.

I was just as stunned, if not more.

For it was not a little girl I held, but a grown woman, full into the flower of her youth, beauty, and grace.

_How long have I been a prisoner?_ I wondered._ How long has it been since I last saw you, held you, called your name? Am I a stranger to my own family now, now that I but barely know you? And you, child, do you know me, one who you have not seen since you were a child but a few years into girlhood? How long has it been, my beloved child, how long has it been?_

Finally, she raised her tear-stained face to meet my eyes.

In instinct, I lifted my hand and brushed away the last remaining tears. "~This is no time for tears,~" I told her. "~Not now, my _eleniel_.~"

Estel smiled brilliantly, the sun glittering against her tear-washed cheeks. "~You didn't forget,~" she whispered. "~You didn't forget my nickname.~"

"~How could I ever forget you, child?~"

She smiled again, the tears returning, and buried her face in my chest.

I lifted my head to smile in tentative relief at Kiria. Estel had not forgotten me; somehow, she had remembered me, kept me close, and called me "Father" still. It was as she had said – some bonds were too strong to be broken, even by time.

But Kiria wasn't looking at me; her gaze was fixed on something else near the door.

I followed her gaze and jumped.

There was another person there – an Elf. _That would explain how I didn't sense him._ Estel could stand as still as an Elf, as she was a Peredhel, but only a true Elf could represent the full meaning of that. Only a true Elf could stand and move as still, as gracefully, as silently.

He was tall, as all Elves were, and dressed in comfortable, beautiful Elven clothes. Golden hair surrounded blue eyes, something that surprised me – it was rare for Elves to have such light hair, for even the daughters and grandchildren of Galadriel had not the fine, silken, gold hair that she had borne. But perhaps this one was related to the Lady? It would explain, I thought, the small silver circlet that rested on his brow, an extremely subtle sign of royalty.

Only Lady Galadriel wasn't technically royalty.

"~Where are Tinúviel and Eldarion?~" Kiria was saying to the Elf.

The Elf shrugged; a clean, graceful human movement. "~They heard the message; perhaps they have been delayed by the ceremony. . . Not all of us can run out so quickly, Lady Kiria."

His eyes, I noted uneasily, weren't fixed on Kiria, but on Estel.

The Elf turned sharply. "~Here they come now.~"

Sure enough, moments later my son, daughter, and another Elf – silver-haired and blue-eyed, but garbed just as beautifully as the first Elf – entered the room . . . and stopped dead in their tracks.

I reached towards them as Estel slipped away.

"~Calanon; Antiel,~" I called to them.

Eldarion's face lit up with joy; Tinúviel's eyes flooded with tears.

So. They too remembered the nicknames I had gifted all of the children with. Estel was my _eleniel_, my star; Eldarion my _calanon_, my light; and Tinúviel my _antiel_, my gift. And together, they made the greatest treasures I had ever beheld.

The two Elves stood together, I saw, and exchanged one or two words; but throughout all, their eyes constantly stayed upon my daughter.

It made me uneasy.

Elves were not known for being voluptuous, but I knew the consequences of a match between mortals and immortals – and it did not usually fare well. While I was sure that if my daughters returned the feelings the Elves would be forthright, respectful, and everything a son-in-law and husband can be and that if my daughters were unaware the Elves would be silent and wait for them and not even think of making a single inappropriate move, my certainties crumbled like dust in the wind when I saw the two Elves.

I did not trust anyone with my children, not after what had happened to us.

Even worse was when I noticed that Estel had slipped to the golden-haired Elf's side, and he, in turn, turned to her. He did not touch her, or speak to her, or even linger on her for more than a moment, but something passed between them.

And it was far more intimate than anything that passes between friends.

I looked round to my family. "~How did this happen? How are we all together? How . . .~"

I choked on my words, unable to speak for a moment, remembering the mind-numbing, anguishing grief and rage I had felt when I had thought I had seen my beloved Kiria die.

"~How?~" was all I could say.

My children, my Kiria, and the two Elves all exchanged glances – not exactly displeased, but more like silently saying, _Now how do we tell him?_

"~What is it?~" I demanded.

Estel cleared her throat. "~It's a rather . . . well . . . _long_ story, Father. We will tell you, and now, if you'd like, but . . . well . . . I warn you, it is not something to be taken lightly, or easily.~"

I tightened my grip on Kiria's hand, marveling once again that she was still as beautiful as my hazy mind remembered. "~I have now been freed from Sauron, am still alive, and find that everyone I died for is also still alive. I think I had best hear the story, _eleniel_. And now, please.~"

Eldarion sighed and uncrossed his arms. "~Very well. I'll speak to the kitchens and get us supper then.~"

Without thinking, I switched to the common tongue.

The Elves had demonstrated knowledge of Elvish; hopefully they could not understand the tongue of Men as well, for I knew that in the old ages, some Elves had not been able to, and if these were the last remaining Elves in Middle-earth. . .

"The Elves – should they stay here?" I said rapidly. "Is this not something you do not wish to be bandied about as common knowledge?"

To my surprise, Eldarion laughed, and the Elves exchanged almost furtive glances.

Clearly, there was something I had not been told.

"Lord Elessar of the Dúnedain," the golden-haired Elf said. "You need not try to conceal things from us. We know, Lord Elessar, and we have known. And we will not reveal any of your secrets . . . for as much our benefit as yours."

And to my horror, he glanced at Estel as he spoke.

"~Tell me the truth. _Now_.~"


	73. Chapter 72

**_Chapter Seventy-Two_**

(everything is spoken in Elvish)

~ _Eldarion_ ~  
" – and we sent you back here, and Mordor crumbled, and that's basically the end of everything," I concluded. Quickly, I racked my brains for anything I had missed and even shot a glance towards Estel to see if she had caught anything I had not – but she merely shook her head once, signaling to me that she couldn't think of anything I had missed.

My father pushed away the tray of food, his gaze resting on me with a thoughtful look.

I was surprised he wasn't dozing.

It wasn't exactly the most _interesting_ tale, after all, and there was a lot of it to bring him up to speed on. A _lot_. We had to go through the Battle of Amon Hen, the Battle of Helms' Deep, the Battle of Pelennor Fields, and the Battle of the Black Gate – and everything else in between.

Normally, I wouldn't go to such lengths.

But this was my _father_. And when he asked for things to be told to him, he meant it. Aragorn was my Lord Chieftain, but this was my father – I could not, would not deny him.

"So . . . you know everything? All of this?" my father asked, directing the question at Legolas and Haldir.

Haldir nodded.

"Mithrandir saw fit to tell me," Legolas said gently, "because he thought it would be easier if there was someone else to protect Estel as well if he did not make it."

My father's eyes narrowed. "Mithrandir?" There was an air of recognization in his voice; but then again, my father knew the stories as well as all of us. "And how did Mithrandir find out about . . . well, all of us?"

"Lord Elrond told him," Estel explained softly.

"Lord _Elrond_?" my father exclaimed in surprise, sitting bolt upright. "But . . . But I thought . . . He's actually _here_?"

"Yes, Father," Tinúviel answered. "Estel stayed at Imladris for some time, actually, before the Fellowship set out on their quest, if my memory serves me correctly. . . Does it, sister?"

Estel nodded. "I know it is a lot to take in, Father – but it is the truth."

My father's expression turned troubled. "The truth? Yes, I know. But not all of it. . . There is always a price to pay, Estel, and saving an entire family from the Halls of Mandos will require a hefty repayment indeed. . . I fear . . . We have escaped death, yes. But it makes me question the reasons behind this. We are not the first family of Believers, nor the strongest, nor the most educated in the lore of our bloodline. Others could have easily served the same role. And that is my next question – why us?"

"The Valar had their own reasons," Legolas interjected. "They always have, of all the Peredhel."

My father didn't respond.

But I could easily tell that something was bothering my father. He usually wasn't this brooding.

I nearly laughed. _Usually wasn't? Valar, I haven't seen him since I was . . . and here I am, already acting as though he's been here all along. . ._

My mother glanced at my father. "Enough. I think it is time for us to retire. . . Elessar, you need rest if you wish to recover, you know."

My father sighed.

Estel glided forward, kissed my father on the cheek, and hugged my mother before returning to Legolas, who held out a hand. She took it almost instinctively, without thinking, and together they glided out the door, perfectly in step. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw how he leaned down to kiss the top of her head reassuringly.

Tinúviel curtsied to my father. "Good night, my Lord." Then she and Haldir left as well.

I made to leave after them.

Then my father said, "Wait, Eldarion."

I turned around. My father still had that brooding, troubled expression on his face, and it seemed he only transferred his gaze to me with great difficulty, as though he had just seen something that caused him even more worries. It didn't help that my mother was looking strangely at my father as well; and my mother generally understood my father better than anyone.

"Yes, Father?"

He hesitated for three heartbeats.

Then: "Tell me . . . What is going on between Estel and . . . that Elf?"

I frowned. _Estel? Wait . . . _"Wait, what?"

"Do not play innocent with me," my father said, and despite being in bed and injured, he seemed suddenly as threatening and powerful as he always had, for in his day he had been the leader of the Dúnedain and the most likely successor to my grandmother, the leader of the Believers. "I may be injured, and exhausted, and unaccustomed to this Age – but my eyesight and thoughts are not so clouded."

My mother glanced at him, confusion clear on her face. "Clouded on what?" she asked.

His eyes narrowed as he looked between us. "Are you two in a conspiracy against me?" he demanded, his voice harsh. "Eldarion, you especially – you swore to defend the honor of your sisters until your last breath."

I floundered, at a total loss for words. My father and I had gotten along splendidly; yet never before had his criticism been so harsh. And even worse – I did not know what he was talking about.

"Is it of Legolas that you speak?" my mother said suddenly.

My father's eyes widened. "Legolas?"

"Yes, Father. Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Mirkwood. He has been our companion in the Fellowship since its beginning in Imladris, just as the stories have always said, and has long since pledged to Estel's protection," I elaborated.

My father stared, stunned, gaping like a fish. "And . . . And the other?" he stammered.

"He is Haldir, marchwarden of Lothlórien. . . Father?" I asked warily, taking a step forward in his direction.

My mother sprang forward. "Elessar! _Elessar!_"

~ _Tinúviel_ ~  
"Your father seems to be adapting well," Haldir said gently.

I sighed. "Maybe. But I can sense it will be a while before he is ready to walk amongst us again. . ."

Haldir took my hand. "_Meleth-nin_, remember, it wasn't that long ago that he was a prisoner of Sauron, and that he has dwelt on your 'deaths' for many years before that. It will take him a while to readjust, yes, but it is not your fault."

"I do not blame myself."

He frowned. "Then what troubles you?" he asked gently.

"Just . . ." I looked down with a sigh. "Elves have different ways of choosing spouses than Men do, even than Dúnedain, Haldir. I do not think you will understand – but I also do not believe that my father will . . . approve . . . of you . . . as a husband for one such as me. I am a mortal, Haldir; inevitably, our journey will come to an end and our paths will part."

"What does being a mortal have to do with love? We may be of different Kindreds, but, _meleth-nin_, that has not stopped those who came before us."

I tried to interrupt, but he raised a hand.

"Let me finish, please," he said gently. "Tinúviel, we are both Children of Ilúvatar. The only differences between us are in the gifts He chose to grace us with. That does not meant that I will envy you death, or you envy me life. And it does not mean that we are so different that the lengths of our lives will determine the way we love."

I didn't answer. Haldir was right, and his arguments, in fact, were the very ones I had been mustering quietly in the back of my mind.

But I hadn't been seeing my father when I had made those arguments.

I had seen the way my father's eyes had narrowed as he watched the interaction between my sister and Legolas; I had seen his disapproval in the set of his jaw; I had glimpsed the confusion in the way he asked Eldarion to remain behind.

He didn't understand.

And he certainly did not approve.

It was why I had been careful to distance myself from Haldir during that meeting. I didn't want him being suspicious or overprotective or confused as to what was real and what was not. And Haldir had sensed my wishes, at least, and kept his own distance as well, for which I was very grateful.

Of course, that didn't work for Estel and Legolas.

Legolas and Estel were . . . different from Haldir and I. Very different.

Legolas and Estel had fallen in love, but gradually; their friendship had been the cause of a budding relationship that had very slowly transformed into to love. It had probably had as many bumps and problems as Aragorn and Arwen had had, and especially with the addition of Éomer into the mix as well. That meant that the ties that bound the two together were at once more subtle and open than Haldir's and mine could ever be.

Besides, Legolas was not Haldir. He had sworn to be Estel's protector before he had fallen for her; he had sworn his death for her life, if need be. He was extremely protective of her, almost to the point of ridiculousness, I noticed, but sometimes that was good.

And Estel certainly wasn't me. She had not been gifted with the beauty of the Morning and Evening Stars, but she had such a mix of Elven and human blood that made her seem like an innocent to be protected, a prize to be kept, a treasure to shield.

Legolas was drawn to that charming mix, and she, in turn, found comfort in being able to trust him as she hadn't been able to trust an outsider – ever.

In that sense, in the presence of my father, Estel knew Legolas liked having her near, and she acquiesced and stayed at his side. And Legolas, like Haldir, knew little of the traditions of the Dúnedain – and even worse, Legolas was a Prince, and the _only_ prince of Mirkwood at that.

"_Meleth-nin_?"

I looked up and sighed. "My father won't approve. And while for now his attention is focused on Estel and Legolas, it will not remain so for long. . ."

Haldir's eyes grew stormy as he crossed his arms. On one hand, he could not bear to lose me. On the other, he would not dare to cause me pain by separating me from my family.

"Do you think . . . How is this normally done, then?" he asked.

I bit my lip. "Generally, the prospective husband asks the father for the permission to marry," I explained finally. "And then the father discusses it with the mother and the daughter before he makes his final decision on whether or not it is to be. That is the tradition the Dúnedain followed, and so by extension so do the Believers. . . Why?"

"I think . . . when it is time . . . perhaps when your father has adjusted, then I will plead our case to him."

I stared in shock. "Haldir! You can't – "

"I will not lose you. I must do everything I can, Tinúviel; you can not sway me in this."

"But . . . Haldir . . ." I shook my head and sighed. "Haldir, please, I think it will be best if I break the news first. I am his daughter."

Haldir frowned. "Is that not against tradition?"

"My father is reasonable. And my mother knows, and she will listen. And . . . And I can't . . . My father can be ambiguous, Haldir, and I do not want things to go . . . wrong."

His eyes softened abruptly, and he moved to cup my cheek with a gentle hand. "He won't hurt me over something as trivial as this," he reassured me. "In the worst case scenario, I will simply withdraw my claim to your hand and wait for time to let your father see reason. I can wait. I will wait, especially for someone as you, _meleth-nin_."

Startled speechless, I stared at Haldir for only a short moment before I folded into his embrace, holding him as close to me as he held me to him.

"Thank you," I whispered.

He kissed the top of my head. "I love you."


	74. Chapter 73

**_Chapter Seventy-Three_**  
(everything is spoken in Elvish)

~ _Lord Elrond_ ~  
"Lady Kiria," I greeted, inclining my head to her.

She smiled and curtsied in turn. "Lord Elrond. Please, come in."

Her entire expression bespoke relaxation and happiness, and it was quite easy to pinpoint the cause – her husband, Elessar, who lay in the bed, alive and present, if not unscathed.

Elessar sat up as I entered. He was so close to Aragorn in appearance that – had I taken away the fact that he bore no Elessar, still suffered from numerous injuries from his time in the dungeons of Sauron, and wore a wedding ring on his finger – I could almost believe that it was Aragorn sitting before me. He had the same shoulder-length dark brown hair, the same pale blue eyes, even the same general air of power and wisdom that set him apart from normal Men.

I could easily see where Eldarion had gotten his traits from now. His mother had passed on the spirit and nobility of Rohan's royal line, but it was from Elessar that Eldarion had inherited his grace and familiarity with weapons.

"Lord Elessar," I said. "Welcome to Minas Tirith of the Fourth Age. I am Lord Elrond."

"You are known to me, Lord," Elessar replied, inclining his head gently in acknowledgement. "Our people have always remembered those whose blood has graced our line, and you most especially, along with your daughter, Arwen Undómiel."

"Perhaps. But in the end, it was your own resilience that led the continuation of our line."

Kiria sat by her husband's side and took his hand. "Enough, my Lord. Let us not waste Lord Elrond's time," she said gently.

"It is no waste of time; but nor, I am afraid, am I hear to exchange trivial pleasantries."

I then proceeded with my original intent, and examined Elessar to ensure that his recovery was going well. He seemed fine, quite to my surprise, and seemed to be recovering faster than most did. But then again, most prisoners that survived Sauron's grasp tended to be stronger anyways and Elessar also had the inherited advantage of the hardiness of Elves.

"You are doing very well," I finally concluded. "You are very lucky, Elessar."

He smiled. "I know I am."

We exchanged a few more minor comments before I decided it was time to leave. But as I rose, pleading my excuses, I could not help but catch the uneasiness that flashed across Elessar's face.

I hesitated. "Is there a problem?"

"No, my Lord."

"Elessar, you are no burden to me or my House," I said gently, easily understanding the hesitation on his face. _It seems that this is where Estel and Eldarion got this from._ "If there is an issue that I can help with, I would like to know."

"It is just . . ." He paused again. "It's my daughters."

I sank back into my chair with a frown. I had seen Estel and Tinúviel this very morning, in the Great Hall with Aragorn, Legolas, Haldir, and quite a few other people. It had been the first time I had seen Eldarion and Tinúviel, and the similarities between them and Aragorn and Arwen, respectively, had been astonishing. But I had sensed no problems there; on the contrary, I had not believed they could be happier than they had seemed then.

"What could be wrong with them?" I asked.

Kiria exchanged a weary look with her husband. "My husband would like your opinion on Legolas of Mirkwood and Haldir of Lothlórien," she said.

I barely contained my surprise. Elessar had mentioned his daughters beforehand, and I knew of his daughters' connections for the two. I had seen quite clearly the way Haldir and Tinúviel were in love, and Legolas and Estel too.

"Why?"

Elessar leaned forward. "Eldarion has told me of their affections for my daughters. I would like to know of the ones who presume such without a father's approval."

I contained my frown. _Ah. . . So this is what troubles him._ "Before I divulge that, Elessar, let me ask you something: Are you aware of the differing standards between Elves and Men in terms of courting?"

He could only stare.

"Ah. I presume not then. . .Very well. As I understand it, Haldir and Tinúviel are . . . well . . . very much like Beren and Lúthien, in their own way – love at first sight, I believe is what you call it. Haldir has refused to cross to Valinor with the others until the time when he can no longer be with Tinúviel here. I fear he will remain here until he cannot bear to remember her death.

"As to Legolas – what do you wish to know? I would assume that your own stories bear enough for you to know, as he is one of the members of the Fellowship."

"Stories," Elessar countered, "tell you of one's achievements, not one's personality. And it is one's personality, Lord Elrond, that decides what kind of man, and therefore what kind of husband, he is. Surely you would know that."

I studied Elessar. For one who had spent years languishing in the dungeons of Sauron, he seemed remarkably clear-headed – enough to worry for the safety of his daughters and their hearts, at any rate. His eyes were honest, open, and beseeching; he was trusting too.

_It seems this family will keep reminding what about Men makes them special. . . It seems Estel was right. I cannot give up on them yet; they still have much to learn, yes, but also much to give._

"Very well. I fear that my stories will be biased though; surely you recall that Legolas spent some years of his childhood roaming Imladris as he roamed Mirkwood?"

Elessar waved it aside. "I trust your judgment, Lord Elrond. If there is one thing our stories call you, it is not loremaster – it is that you had an unparalleled ability to judge one's character, Man or Elf."

I tried to describe Legolas as best as I could.

It wasn't easy.

Legolas was almost like a second son to me, even though in his later years he had retreated to tend to Mirkwood and had come but rarely to Imladris. But then again, Elves had long memories. Perhaps not perfect memories, but I knew that I had but to close my eyes, and I would be able to call up the image of Legolas a child again without any effort.

When I was done, Elessar was silent for a long time. I looked to Kiria, but her eyes were fixed on her husband.

Finally, he stirred. "Perhaps," he murmured, "I should speak to them myself."

"Perhaps you should," I agreed. "Only, remember always that the ways of courtship are not the same when considering the way it would be done among the First Kindred and the Second. But Legolas and Haldir would never do anything to endanger your daughters. If you trust me as a judge of character, and if there was one thing I would ask you to trust me in without hesitation, it would be that. We do not court the same, but we, at least, love the same – with the same dignity, respect, and devotion. That, I think, is the same across all the Children of Ilúvatar, Elves or Men."

Elessar seemed to relax somewhat. "Thank you, Lord Elrond Peredhel," he murmured, using my title for the first time.

I might have waved it off, as I usually wont to do; but not this time. It was, I knew, a sign of his faith, his trust, and his respect for me. To tell him not to would be to tell him to disobey everything that made him who he was – me included, for my blood was his blood.

I inclined my head. "Lord Elessar. Lady Kiria." And I took my leave.

~ _Kiria_ ~  
When Lord Elrond left, I looked to my husband. He seemed so . . . worried about Estel and Tinúviel. Never mind the fact that they were grown; never mind the fact that they were surrounded only by those who wished them well, like Eldarion and Aragorn and Lord Elrond; never mind the fact that his biggest concern right now should be himself, and healing.

But then again, that was who my husband was.

I placed my hand on his. "Have you decided what you are going to do?" I asked quietly.

He sighed and leaned against his pillows, closing his eyes. "I think," he said, "I will need more time. . . I trust Lord Elrond, and Estel and Tinúviel, but . . ."

"I know," I said softly. I laughed quietly. "It seems only but yesterday in our memory that they were but little children, and Tinúviel just entering the stages of courtship, and Estel saying she never wanted to married."

Elessar smiled faintly. "Our little warrior princess."

"Yes."

We were silent for a long time after that. We didn't need to speak. Our memories were bittersweet enough. There was no need to speak of what the other already knew in their heart.

We were imagining our girls, our Tinúviel and Estel, our fine lady and warrior princess. They had changed so much, grown up so much – sometimes I could barely recognize them. _Most_ times I could barely recognize them. They were at once part of us and something far greater than us, somehow I just knew it.

But first, they would need a chance to grow.

"Elessar."

"Hmm?"

I leaned forward. "Elessar, it's time. We can't hold on to them forever. It's been so long. They've grown up, Elessar, they've changed. _We've_ changed."

He opened his eyes wearily. "You're ready to let them go?" he asked softly. "We lost them for so long and you're ready to just . . . part ways, just like that? With half a good-bye and a gaze already fixed on . . . someone else?"

"You can say their names, you know."

"Legolas and Haldir. Them." He sighed and shook his head with a helpless chuckle. "Lord Elrond called it 'love at first sight'. I saw that. It's not what concerns me."

"Then what does?"

"Estel."

"She's dealt with more than anyone in this family," I reminded him. "She was the last, Elessar; she heard of our deaths, she saw deaths, she was enslaved, she was tortured, she was violated. She lost everything she had to give but her life – but by then, it was the one thing she would have parted with the most gladly.

"I . . ." I looked down. "I've seen her with Legolas, Elessar. He makes her happy. Even when she was a child, she's never smiled, she's never smiled, she's never been so . . . _alive_ as she is around her. He completes her. He's part of her in a way we will never be. And if you take that from her . . . well, she might not be able to give away one more thing. There's only so much someone can lose before you can't take it anymore."

"Kiria. . ." Elessar leaned towards me, taking my hands. "Kiria, I know of what you speak. But consider this a father's concern."

"A mother has concerns too. I've settled them already. Why can't you trust me, and Lord Elrond, and Estel? You saw her. Was she unhappy?"

"No, but – "

"Did her affection seemed forced?"

"No, but – "

'Did she seem like she was hurting in any way?"

"No, but – "

I sighed. "Did it seem like she loved him? Was content enough with him and him alone? As if . . . As if she could love him forever, could live with choosing him, could bind herself to him and not regret it for a single second of the remainder of her life?"

"I . . . yes."

I kissed him on the cheek. "Then, my Lord, if you still feel concern about Legolas, there is only one way you can settle it: Talk to Legolas yourself. Tomorrow, if you like. The sooner you settle this, the better."


	75. Chapter 74

AN: Happy Holidays, everyone! Here's my gift to you – a double update for My Fairytale. As you can no doubt sense, this story is coming to a close, but it won't be an easy one. So I leave you with my gift . . . and a cliffhanger. :-)

* * *

**_Chapter Seventy-Four_**  
(everything is spoken in Elvish)

~ _Elessar_ ~  
It was surprisingly easy to find Haldir and Tinúviel, and even easier to see clearly the affection between them.

I set out but half an hour after finishing breakfast, and all around me I could see the wave of Men pouring back into Minas Tirith, reuniting with families and rejoicing the crowning of the King. Elves too celebrated the final bringing of peace and the hope of Men coming together and rebuilding all that had been lost, before slipping quietly away, all leaving to the Grey Havens to pass over to the Undying Lands.

Well, all but a few.

Lord Elrond stayed behind; he would stay for a while yet, to reconcile himself at least in some part to the fact that he would sail without his beloved children.

Arwen would stay behind, of course, and when she died, the last of the Elves would die with her and live on only in faint memory and royal bloodline.

Elladan and Elrohir, the sons of Elrond, would remain behind as well, for they had elected to delay their choice.

And, of course, my two objects – Legolas and Haldir – would stay, for the sake of my daughters, if what Lord Elrond, Kiria, and Eldarion had said was true. Somewhere, deep down, I knew they meant us no harm, for I knew without saying that what Kiria had said was true. But I just had to make sure.

And to do that, I had to find Haldir and Legolas first.

No one paid me much attention as I strode through the city, for my hood was raised and my cloak did well to cover me. Besides, I did not carry any markers of allegiance, for only another Dúnadan would have known.

Just as Aragorn did.

"Lord Elessar," he called to me from where he stood arm-in-arm with his wife.

I moved to him and threw back my hood before sweeping a low bow. "Your Majesties," I greeted.

He surprised me by clasping my shoulder, as though we were comrades. "There is no need for titles between us, Lord Elessar," he said gently. "For we are equals, in our own way; both Chieftains of our own."

I held his gaze evenly. "We _used_ to be equals, my Lord," I corrected. "But I am no King. And as one of your subjects, you are due the same respect and recognization as a King, regardless of our connection by blood, faint as it is."

"Aragorn," Arwen interjected softly. "He speaks the truth."

Aragorn withdrew his hand. "Very well, then. It seems I am overruled. . . But nevertheless, formalities shall only hold sway in public, Lord Elessar. In private, blood is blood, and you are one of my family and we shall respect the rules as such. I will not be superior to my own kin."

I bowed again. "As you wish."

Arwen smiled at me, at once a glorious queen and comforting friend. She looked as regal as her father, but it was only then that I could see for sure the connection between her beauty and the beauty of my Tinúviel. There were a few differences, though, for which I was grateful; we did not need a carbon copy of the Evenstar. I could see that the Elven blood was far stronger in Arwen, and thus her appearance was more ethereal than my daughter. But they had the same grace, the same poise, the same lovely smile.

"Welcome to Minas Tirith, Lord Elessar," she said to me, her musical voice ringing in my ears in the most pleasant way. "We are pleased to meet one who carries on our bloodline and whose faith in us has never waved."

"My lady, if there was ever a reason to believe, she now stands before me."

She laughed. "You flatter me, Lord Elessar; your daughter is just as beautiful as I."

"Now you flatter me, my lady."

Arwen laughed again.

"So," Aragorn said, resuming his leisurely stroll, "what brings you outside the Halls of Healing? I presume it is something serious that you must stir against the protests of your family."

"It is precisely for the sake of my family that I stir, Your Majesty."

Aragorn stopped instantly at my words and exchanged a quick concerned look with Arwen. Both of their faces seemed equally concerned and troubled, as if I had just told them someone was planning an assassination attempt or something.

"Of what do you speak?" Arwen asked.

"My daughters. And . . . Legolas and Haldir," I added reluctantly.

Arwen's face clouded even more, but Aragorn only nodded resignedly, as if he had expected it. Perhaps Estel and Eldarion had told him already.

"If you wish to speak to Haldir or Legolas," Aragorn said finally, "Haldir is at the Halls of Healing with Tinúviel, and Legolas is in the Great Hall with Estel."

I bowed again. "Thank you, Your Majesties."

"Lord Elessar?"

Arwen's voice rose in the air behind me, gentle, melodious, but filled with an emotion I couldn't identify.

I half-turned. "Yes?"

"Be careful," was all she said.

~ _Haldir_ ~  
"Father? What are you doing here?"

I looked up from my preparation of the herb mixtures to see Tinúviel staring incredulously at the doorway, her own task in preparing the food trays going undone. As I watched, her father stopped before her and graced her with a gentle hug. They spoke briefly before I stepped up next to them.

" – you should rest," Tinúviel was saying in dismay.

Lord Elessar put a hand on her shoulder, his eyes resting on me. "There are things that cannot wait, my child, and this is one of them. Would you mind giving us some . . . privacy?"

Tinúviel hesitated, her eyes flickering between the two of us – both trying to be impassive yet feeling that same nervousness coursing through our veins, both in a staring contest over something that didn't even exist, both trying to prove our strength while acknowledging that we could not afford to permanently offend the other.

Finally, I murmured, "_Meleth-nin_, please."

Still, she refused to move.

I knew it wasn't that she was being petulant or ridiculous; she was genuinely concerned. After all, she had spoken to me about her father before, and she was genuinely worried for my safety and for her father.

"As you wish," she finally replied reluctantly before slipping away.

We stared in silence for a few long minutes before he finally stirred and said, "So – you know who I am, then?"

I inclined my head slightly. "You are Lord Elessar," I answered. "You are Lady Kiria's husband, Estel and Eldarion and Tinúviel's father, and the Chieftain of the Dúnedain in your day and age. Had things gone the proper course, you would have been the King too."

"And you – you are Haldir of Lórien," he said. "The marchwarden who led the Elves of Lothlórien to aid of Rohan in Helms' Deep. I understand my daughter saved your life there."

"She did."

"And now you have pledged yourself to my other daughter, Tinúviel."

"That is correct."

Lord Elessar gazed at me with an almost weary air. "I am not trying to interrogate you or make you uncomfortable," he said quietly. "But even though I was not a full part of my daughter's upbringing, she is my daughter, and I am responsible to see that she is . . . happy. At least, as much as she can be."

"I understand. I want the same for her."

"Do you?" he asked. "Can you even begin to understand who and what she is?"

"She is my Tinúviel," I said simply. "I love her for who she is, and that is all I need from her in return. . . I do not ask for a dowry, as some Men might, or children, as others might; all I wish for her is that she is happy, and wants for nothing that I can give her." I shifted slightly. "You might disagree, of course. I know she is of a privileged lineage, for few can claim the blood of Beren and Lúthien, much less the Evenstar she bears. But I do not love her for that. If anything, it only makes "

"Hmm." He studied me. "You do not regret staying behind in Middle-earth for her?"

I shook my head. "I belong with her. Middle-earth, Valinor, the Halls of Mandos – I will be where she is, and that is where I belong. Nowhere else."

Lord Elessar sighed and looked away, breaking eye contact for the first time since he had begun speaking. He seemed weary, and not just in body from his torments at Sauron's hand. He was weary in soul, in mind, in heart. There was much he carried on his shoulders.

Then he turned his gaze back to me. "Very well, Haldir. You have convinced me. You . . . have my approval . . . to court Tinúviel, and you need not ask me for her hand, if that is your desire. But make sure that it is what _she_ wants, not just what you wish. You must promise me that, for there is no other way you will be my son-in-law."

"It is an easy price to pay for one such as her. You have my word," I swore. "And should I waver, harden your heart and do not falter in your punishment."

"You're a good person," he murmured. "I think you'll make her happy, Haldir, and that is the best thing I could ask."

"It is the only thing I can only hope I'll give her."

"No, Haldir. I think you already give it to her, every single day."

I sighed. "You were not satisfied with your interrogation of Lord Elrond about me?" I asked, realizing what had prompted this.

Lord Elessar pursued his lips. "Sometimes, you must rely on what your own eyes have seen before you can believe something," he replied. "Especially when it is something as important as one you love."

"And so now you seek Legolas?"

He nodded.

"He is in the Great Hall, I think. Estel exhausted herself tending to the wounded, so he persuaded her to rest."

I saw the alarm on his face.

"He has not touched her," I said quickly, forestalling that outburst.

He relaxed slightly.

"Do you think so little of a Prince of Mirkwood, Lord Elessar?" I chided. "He loves her more than anything else. I do not think he would ever lay a hand on her unless she wished it, even were the whole of Gondor crying for it."

"It is precisely because he is a Prince that I am worried," Lord Elessar retorted.

I sighed. "He is in the Great Hall, then."


	76. Chapter 75

**_Chapter Seventy-Five_**  
(everything is spoken in Elvish)

~ _Legolas_ ~  
"Estel?" I said.

She started, almost jumping in surprise, but I placed a hand on her shoulder, stilling her impulse to jump or run – whichever it was – and reassuring her that it was just me.

"Legolas, you really need to stop doing that," Estel scolded.

"It is not my fault that you seem extraordinarily distracted this morning, Estel," I countered teasingly.

But she didn't respond to my teasing.

Which only increased my concern and fortified my original sentiment.

I leaned closer and brushed my fingers against her cheek. "Estel, _meleth_, what troubles you?" I asked gently. "You have not been so distracted since we first found Eldarion or your fa – Ah. It's your father, is it not?"

Estel's cheeks flushed, but she stared determinedly forward, avoiding my gaze. She did not speak, and I remained silent as well, waiting. If she had a problem, I could not force it from her. She would have to tell me – she would have to trust me.

Finally, she murmured, "Yes, it is my father."

"What about him?"

She sighed. "I do not think he will approve."

"Of?"

"Us."

I tilted my head, trying to catch her gaze. "What part of 'us' are you referring to, _meleth_?" I prompted gently.

"Just _us_. Everything," she amended. "There are some many rules we left unattended. We were not considered in a betrothal contract. You did not seek my father's permission. You have not courted me. Our families have not agreed on the marriage. . . There are so many things we didn't do, Legolas, so many traditions we have broken."

I waited. "Does it bother you that much?"

Finally, Estel turned to me. "No," she said. "I could care less about tradition, because we just don't follow tradition anyways."

"That was not my question."

She sighed. "What answer do you want? I hate it, I love it, I do not care?"

"No, _meleth_." I clasped her hands between my own, drawing her closer to me. "I do not want any answer you think I want. I want _your_ answer, without any regards to me, or your father, or tradition, or anything else."

She finally met my gaze. "No, Legolas. It does not bother me."

I pulled her into a gentle embrace. "Then that is all that matters right now," I whispered. "We will deal with your father when the time comes; but, Estel, in the end, it is we who will live with the decision, not him. If you want me to court you, to follow the traditions of Men, I will – but only if it is what _you_ want and not simply you appeasing the tradition of your forbearers."

Estel laughed. "Court me? And how, pray, could you court me?"

"I would deal with that later."

"In other words, you would have to think about it before you finally solved the issue," she teased.

"What do you expect? I do not pull solutions out of mid-air. I'm not a magician or wizard."

"I bet you wish you could be."

I laughed. "Valar, no, Estel. I have all the magic I need – right here."

She smiled, resting her head against my shoulder and relaxing. "You still need to talk with my father, though," she told me.

"I will."

Estel pulled back. "You _have_ to, Legolas. Do not put this off. Please. It won't – "

Someone cleared their throat.

I turned and felt Estel start within the circle of my arms. But when she saw the person in question, she immediately made to pull away and I released her at once, for the person was her father, and from the way he gazed at me with hard, narrow eyes, I did not think it wise to provoke him further where Estel was concerned.

Not if I wished to make it out of me without being arrow-ridden, anyways.

"Father," Estel cried. She rushed to him and hugged him.

He hugged her back, but his eyes never left me but for a moment, and that was when he kissed her forehead, a fatherly greeting to a daughter. But I could see that had I moved, it would have been no trouble at all for him to simply swing Estel around, separating us.

He really did not like me, or the idea of us being together.

_Hmm. So in that Estel was correct._

I hadn't thought she was lying. I had just assumed that, like all families do, she had exaggerated a little about her father – unintentionally, of course, but all families did that about their loved ones.

Apparently, though, she hadn't.

"Estel," Lord Elessar said, "would you mind to give us some privacy?"

Estel bit her lip, and glanced quickly back at me. "Very well, Father," she said, but her voice was the most reluctant I'd ever heard it. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

I suppressed a chuckle. _A subtle threat, _meleth_, a subtle threat indeed._

Lord Elessar faced me when she was gone. "Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Mirkwood." His tone was calm, but there was an air of . . . almost belligerent. Not dangerous, just warning.

Then again, he had seen me hugging his daugher.

"Lord Elessar of Gondor," I said, addressing him with a perfectly calm tone, as I knew Estel would have wanted.

"You know me?"

"I have heard your story, Lord Elessar. Three times now, at least," I added. "Eldarion wanted to ensure I knew what I was getting into when I pledged myself to Estel as her protector in case Aragorn or Eldarion could not be by her."

"Her . . . protector?"

"You did not know of her participation in the Battles of Helms' Deep and Pelennor Fields?"

One of his eyebrows went up. "She did?"

I inclined my head. "She did, and I commend you for raising such a skilled fighter," I said. "She more than held her own."

"Hmm." He studied me. "Nevertheless, Legolas Thranduilion, that is not what I came to speak to you about."

"You came to speak to me about Estel, and the way I should have gone to . . . court her, I suppose you call it," I supplied. "I know. Lady Kiria discussed it with me a while ago. She wanted to be sure that my intentions towards Estel were clear."

"Did she now?"

"Yes."

"And what did you tell her?"

I hesitated. My words were . . . probably not what he wanted to hear. But, dutifully, I repeated, "I told her that my rank has nothing to do with Estel's affections for me, and that I never intend to use it against her. But Estel will always be my queen, for I will never choose another, not even when she passes."

"And when you pass over, Legolas?"

I hesitated again. "I have not yet made that decision," I confessed. "Remaining here will bring me pain beyond imagining – but abandoning her merely for my own peace of mind is . . . unthinkable. Truthfully . . . if Estel passes to the Halls of Mandos . . . I am not sure what I shall do, but believe me, if there is a chance that I could follow her into the void, I will not hesitate to take it. But until then, I will not leave her."

"Even as the gift of Men takes its toll?"

I didn't even blink. "Until death do we part, and when I pass into the Halls of Mandos, I will carry her memory with me forever."

Lord Elessar sighed. "I guess that is as fair of a request for Estel's hand as I am going to get from one who is ignorant of our traditions." He gave a sharp look. "But tell me, Legolas – do you honestly intend to make her a queen?"

"She will always be _my_ queen," I answered evenly. "But my father is immortal; I doubt I will take his throne."

"And if you do?"

"Then she will be the Queen of Mirkwood, and my subjects will welcome her."

He sighed again. "Very well, Legolas. . . You have my permission to court Estel, and _if_ she agrees, to ask for her hand in marriage. But mark my words, Legolas – the second you hurt is the second no one in my House will ever look upon you as a friend or regard you with favor ever again. Do you understand?"

"If I ever hurt Estel like that," I replied, "I would deserve that and punishment a thousand times more."

Finally, Lord Elessar gave me some what a smile. "Good luck with her, Legolas," he said, and for the first time, I could feel his resentment and hostility draining away.

I chuckled. "Thank you, but I fear I will have worst storms to weather with her."

"There is no doubt of that."

Lord Elessar inclined his head to me, and I copied the motion, and so we parted on equal terms.

~ _Estel_ ~  
"Legolas, are you sure this is a good . . . well, idea?" I asked fearfully, smoothing down the front of my dress for what must have been the twentieth time, if not more. Then I brushed back my hair, for at least the tenth time, and resumed my pacing.

Legolas laughed from where he lounged comfortably. "Estel, _meleth_, calm yourself," he chided. "He won't bite."

"He's a King!"

Legolas laughed again, and finally rose to halt my pacing. "And you, _meleth_, are a princess in your own right," he reminded me softly.

"Not in reality," I argued, fighting the blush that rose from the intensity of the emotion on his face. Emotion, affection – for me. Clearly displayed.

He looked faintly amused. "Calm yourself," he repeated. "It won't look to be all ruffled and anxious when he – "

"Legolas!"

A tall Elf strode into the room. His blue eyes, only a shade darker than Legolas, were calm and joyful, while his arms were already open to embrace Legolas. A shiny circlet of gold encircled his head, barely seen considering the golden locks of hair that fell freely down his shoulders. He was every bit a King, and the King of Mirkwood no less.

And he was Legolas's father.

"And who is this?" King Thranduil asked when he caught sight of me.

I curtsied instantly.

"She is Lady Estel Elessariel," Legolas answered.

I straightened just in time to catch the sharp look of surprise and perhaps even alarm that Thranduil sent his son.

"Elessar's daughter?"

"Not the King Elessar," I interjected. "Pardon me for interrupting, Your Majesty; but my father was named after King Elessar. He is not King Elessar himself."

"Hmm. I should have known," he muttered. "But if anything is to be said, you could easily pass for a child of Elessar and Arwen, girl. Very easily indeed. . . But enough of titles! If my son thinks you worthy enough to bring you to me, then I think we can dispense with the pleasantries, eh?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Thranduil laughed. "None of that, now," he said, sinking into a chair.

When we were all settled, we made small talk – I threw in a few comments here or three but mainly kept silent. It was clear to me how much Thranduil loved Legolas, and even clearer how much he had missed him during the months he had spent roaming Middle-earth with the Fellowship. I had had Legolas to myself all that time, and so I did not begrudge the King a few measly minutes, or even hours if need be.

But Thranduil ended it after only twenty or so minutes.

He set down his drink, and said, "So, Legolas, what is the purpose of introducing me to Lady Estel?"

Legolas hesitated. Then, respectively, he announced, "Father, I intend to marry her."

Thranduil straightened abruptly, his eyes flickering to me. I got the feeling that he was reevaluating his opinion of me, and that got me worried . . . again. Elves had keen sight. So what could he be seeing in me?

But again he surprised me.

"Well, it's about time," he remarked, settling back against the cushions.

Legolas frowned slightly. "Not that I'm complaining, but – "

"Why?" Thranduil finished. He sighed. "Well, it _is_ time, for one. I've been wondering when you would finally find a woman you found worthy of you and your attention, someone to grace our House with children again. I know it took me a long time too, Legolas; but you surpassed me, no doubt about it."

"And you – you won't even ask any questions?" I interrupted, unable to stay silent anymore.

Thranduil turned his blue gaze to me. "Hmm. Perhaps a few, Lady Estel; but I have heard of you, you know. Word travels quickly between Imladris, Mirkwood, and Lothlórien. I have heard of these . . . Believers, and your exploits with the Elessar you bear around your neck," he said, nodding at it. "And Elrond confirmed a great deal of it to me when I arrived. So, no, I'm not going to ask many questions. If you managed to crack Legolas's shell there, I think you'll do."

"Shell?" Legolas looked offended.

"Well, you _do_ have a hard head, Legolas," I teased.

Thranduil laughed. "Yes, I think you'll do, Lady Estel," he said, still chuckling.

We managed to pry ourselves away from him a few minutes later, which was good, because I could tell that we were already late for dinner. And sure enough, when we arrived, everyone was already there, sitting wherever a seat could be found, balancing cups and plates all over the place.

"Well, well, well, look who finally decided to grace us with their presence?" Eldarion called.

"How did it go?" Tinúviel demanded.

"Enough!" my father shouted, not to be mean but just to be heard over the roar of laughter. "Let them eat first, you two; we can bombard them later."

We had barely gotten food and drinks and sat when the questions began anew.

Thus distracted, no one noticed the bright flame of light that was glowing in the darkest corner of the room. That is, until it was so bright that even a blind man could have noticed it. The light shone like the light of Valinor itself was supposed to have shown – bright, enduring, and _good_. It was undeniably a sign, but of what was another question entirely. . .

Legolas stiffened and half-rose.

He wasn't the only one.

The laughter, the questions, the calm – all deteriorated into tenseness. Even Aragorn reached for his sword.

"Calm yourselves."

The voice rolled out from the light, calm as the summer sea, strong as the winter gale, melodious as the spring night.

I recognized it immediately.

It was the woman who had met me on the battlefield of Mordor.

I leaped to my feet as my heart thudded in my chest. I had survived that encounter, but had she come to collect on my promise to exchange my life for that of my family, my friends, and everyone present that day?

"Who are you?" I demanded. "And what do you want?"


	77. Chapter 76

AN: HAPPY NEW YEAR TO EVERYONE! And yes, it is barely after the ball has fallen, so yes, I am a tad hyper, but ah well. Here's to 2011!

* * *

**_Chapter Seventy-Six_**  
(everything is spoken in Elvish)

~ _Elessar_ ~  
The woman was . . . breathtaking. It was obvious that she was more than a simple Human, or even an Elf. She was supernatural, different, unique. Even her appearance itself was different – her face, her expression, her stance. She had dark and long tresses that flowed about her like river water around wave-polished stones, and a bright silver girdle graced her beautiful figure and elegant robes. She carried the light of the Undying Lands about her, and it was obvious that she was more than she seemed.

In other words – she was either one of the Maia or the Valar.

"I will not hurt you, child."

She spoke, and it was like a thousand birds singing when she did. I felt the urge to cry when she stopped, for it was so beautiful. . .

I could see that I was not the only one falling prey to the spell. Aragorn was having issues blinking. Haldir's breaths were shallow and stunned. Kiria was frozen at my side. Tinúviel's jaw was actually open and had been open for quite a while. Eldarion was shaking his head slowly as though trying to clear the hallucination. Even Arwen was blinking furiously, as though she couldn't put two and two together.

Legolas, however, seemed not to be fooled – if only because Estel was trembling at his side.

He shot to his feet. "Who are you?"

The harsh tone he used, such a contrast to his own musical voice, jolted us all out of the cloud of disbelief and awe.

But the woman wasn't fazed.

"Legolas Thranduilion of Greenwood the Great," she murmured, as if surprised yet not surprised at the same time. "I should have known. . . But then again, as she is the one you have chosen, perhaps I should not be so surprised. . . You have always surprised me, though, and no doubt will do so again."

Legolas's eyes showed his confusion, but then he slipped an arm around Estel's waist and repeated the question, unyielding as adamantine.

She laughed, and it was as though a thousand children were crying out in joy.

"You know me," she said mysteriously. "You _all_ know me."

She glanced around, and I think she could see that there was not a single glance of understanding in any of our faces, and laughed once more. She crossed her arms, smiling at all of us, and I got the sense that perhaps Legolas was a bit overreacting. . . But maybe that was just her spell on me, still active. I could still feel it.

"I was once queen of a domain from which your line started," she said slowly. "I am Melian, Queen of Doriath."

~ _Eldarion_ ~  
The words rang in my ears.

_I am Melian, Queen of Doriath._

Everyone fell back into their states of shock, even Legolas and Estel. We couldn't help it. Her spell on us was so strong . . . and her claim was so . . . unimaginable. Queen Melian the Maia was said to have returned to Valinor with the death of King Thingol and her daughter, Lúthien Tinúviel, to mourn forever the loss of those she loved most.

And yet . . . And yet it _made sense_.

Somehow, it did.

"How?" I asked, finding the need to ask stronger than awe.

Queen Melian smiled sadly. "I lost my daughter to mortality, yes, but I am not bitter about it, son of Elessar. . . In fact, I find that the best way to spend my time is to . . . go along with what she desired. She chose mortality. The best I can do, then, is to watch over those she loved, in turn, and protect them . . . including you and your father."

"Protect?" my father repeated incredulously.

"I cannot interfere with all matters," she countered. "But I can watch over you, and offer what guidance I can."

Estel looked up sharply. "Like urging me to jump?"

She inclined her head. "You listen well, child, and always. Your faith is strong."

"Jump?" Legolas looked at Estel, his blue eyes creasing in concern.

Estel faltered under the intense stare of Legolas. "When I . . . Before I came here . . . I heard a voice urging me to jump, to be free. . . I didn't think about it until now. . . I did. . . It was how I got here."

Queen Melian nodded, and then straightened and uncrossed her arms. It was obvious that she was now done with questions.

"Now. I did not come for mere amusement. I do not reveal myself to my descendants for nothing. . . I have come because of what my lords and ladies, the Valar, had ordered me to come. They feel it is time. You have acquitted yourselves admirably, and I must confess that you have impressed me. . . Indeed, you have accomplished much with little – all of you. And so, our decision is thus: You are all to be given the Choice."

Silence.

"The what?" we all asked.

"The Choice. The Choice that is given to all Peredhel, when the time is right. . . And now it stands before all of you."

There was silence again, and this time much longer, as we endeavored to try and understand that. After all, it wasn't everyday that we met an ancient Queen, or learned that we were to be given a chance at the Choice between mortals and immortals, Elves and Humans.

"Why?" Estel finally asked.

Queen Melian looked at her, and it seemed her gaze softened just a bit. "Because the blood in you is just as well as the blood carried by those you are descended from. And because you have done what many could not have, with very little at your disposal," she answered. "We believe that you deserve it. All of you."

She turned to my father.

"Lord Elessar," she said. "Lady Kiria. You are the oldest, and so I turn to you first. You know of the Choice before you, so please, make it."

My father stared. It was not until my mother spoke that he stirred.

"Eärendil clove to Elwing in the times before, so know I cleave to you," she murmured. "Do not be afraid to choose what it is in your heart, Elessar, for I will choose as you do and we will walk the same fate."

My father looked at her, and smiled, and kissed her on the cheek. His eyes were wet with unshed tears as he said, "My heart, like Eärendil, has always belonged to the fate of Men, Queen Melian, and it is the race of Men that I Choose to be joined with now and governed with at the end of time."

"It is my choice as well."

Queen Melian inclined her head. "It is done."

Then she fixed her gaze on me, and I felt more than heard her say, "And you, Elessarion?"

"I – "

Then I caught sight of Aragorn and Arwen. Arwen had placed her head on his shoulder, but Aragorn wasn't responding; he was staring straight ahead, sorrow engraved on his face. I knew why – we all did. Arwen had chosen mortality for him, and much as he loved her, at the same time he wished she had chosen otherwise.

I shook my head. "I do not choose, Your Majesty."

Queen Melian regarded me with cool eyes that flickered with interest. "And why is that?" she asked, so softly I barely heard it.

"I wish to allow my choice to go to Aragorn Arathornion."

Aragorn started, half-rising. "Eldarion, do not – "

I held up my hand. "Listen to me, Aragorn, please. At least as one of your subjects, if not one of your own." When he finally nodded reluctantly, I continued, "Queen Melian, even if I were to Choose, I would Choose to be with Men, for my heart, like my father's, lies with that race. But I will fall with Men anyways if I do not Choose, and so I do not. But, you, Aragorn – do you want Lady Arwen to languish here alone? I think it would be wiser for you to take my Choice, for I think it will be of greater use to you than me."

Aragorn looked extremely confused. "Whatever do you mean?"

I glanced at Queen Melian.

She understood.

"The Valar only allow for one return of the Choice in favor of the other," she explained. "And you, Arwen Elrondiel, returned the Choice when you decided to travel to the Grey Havens as your father asked. You are not mortal, whatever you believed, for now you are joined to the kindred of your father."

"No! No, that can't be!"

Arwen's lovely face was distressed – no, that was too light a word.

Her face was _devastated_.

Queen Melian looked at her. "You cannot escape your faith, child," she said gently. "I am afraid that your destiny is set. You cannot change it now."

"No. . ." Arwen sank back into her chair, her eyes filling with tears, her voice trembling almost as much as her body.

"Aragorn," Queen Melian said. "Make your Choice."

Aragorn looked from her to Arwen to me, and then her to Arwen to me, and then again. Finally, he said, "I can?"

She blinked. "He has requested, and so it shall be."

"I wish to be joined with the Eldar."

"And so it shall be," she said gently. "But as you are a King, Aragorn, I am afraid it is not that easy. . . When your reign is finished, you may indeed sail to the Undying Lands – and only then will you gain immortality. We will not risk immortality falling into the hands of anyone save those who are devoted to traveling to Valinor and joining the rest of your kin."

"Understood," Aragorn agreed, inclining his head. "And thank you. More than you can imagine."

Queen Melian smiled at me. "Well chosen, Elessarion."

~ _Tinúviel_ ~  
Queen Melian turned to me next.

"Tinúviel Elessariel," she said quietly, and my name had never sounded more musical. "Your Choice?"

I glanced at Haldir.

He turned to look at me at the same time, and I could see the same hope and love in his eyes that I felt rising within me, powerful, building, and full of every emotion I had ever known. This was the chance of a lifetime.

"Elessariel?" Queen Melian prompted.

"Why me?"

"Because you, like everyone else in this room, have lived what it means to be a Peredhel, and you have earned the right to Choose." She hesitated, and then said in a lower tone, "If anything, child, you are just like my daughter. Do not try and think yourself unworthy. You have earned this. You all have?"

I glanced once more at Haldir.

"Haldir?" I whispered.

He gripped my hand, gentle yet firm at the same time. "Choose as your wish, _meleth_."

I knew then what I would choose. "Queen Melian . . . I would ask to be joined to the Eldar . . . please."

She smiled. "It is done, child. . . And I do not begrudge you, if that is what you fear. If anything, I thank you, for allowing some part of my daughter live on as she could not. . . Yes, thank you . . . my child."


	78. Chapter 77

AN: Still Happy New Year to everyone, but now at least I am calmed down enough to remember to tell everyone that this is my New Year's gift, a triple update! Enjoy!

* * *

**_Chapter Seventy-Seven_**  
(everything is spoken in Elvish)

~ _Legolas_ ~  
By now, Estel had completely relaxed at my side.

It was obvious that Queen Melian meant us no harm, and in fact, she had come with a great gift – for all of us. If the entire family was allowed to choose . . . well, it would make things a great deal easier. Aragorn and Arwen, I could see, were already a great deal more at ease, secure now in the knowledge that they were both to be immortal until the end of time, and so Arwen would have both her love and her family instead of having to choose between them. And Tinúviel and Haldir could now live together in peace as well – or perhaps they would sail, given that Haldir had already refused to sail once for her sake.

I glanced at Estel.

She was sorry, I could see, that she would lose her parents and her brother to mortality, but at the same time the same hope that churned within me blossomed within her.

She could choose immortality. She could be with me. We would not have to be separated.

"Elessarion," Queen Melian was saying, "you will still be granted the same gift as your forbearers, despite your Choice. The gift of long life and the gift to choose when to return it will still be yours, and should your descendants, if you have any, prove worthy, it shall be their gift as well."

"But not the Choice?"

She shook her head once. "You follow in the footsteps of Elros, child, and it is the fate of Elros's children that your children shall share. Long life, yes, but not the Choice."

"If I _have_ children."

Queen Melian laughed. "_That_ is a choice you will always have, Elessarion."

Then she turned to Lord Elessar and Lady Kiria.

"You still may sail, you know," she told them gently. "There are places across the sea where you may dwell, and where your daughter may come to see you – but you cannot pass into Valinor itself."

Lord Elessar held his wife close. "You have already given me gifts greater than many Men could ever wish for," he said by way of reply. "And now through you I have seen the light of Valinor, and know that my children shall live as they choose to live. I do not ask for anything more, for I feel I have already been gifted too much, Your Majesty."

"Nay," she countered. "It is a fitting gift for what has been done."

Her eyes rested on Aragorn.

"And, you, King Elessar – when your son is ripe of kingship, and your wife tires of her days, and when have tasted enough of mortality, kingship, and the world – then you may sail for Valinor, and upon stepping to her shores shall you be counted among the Eldar." She paused. "So I guess my only advice to you is to take care not to die beforehand, for you are not immortal or invincible. Not yet.

"And to you, my child, I would speak to your father, for I think he would like to know. . . It will ease his burden, I think, of sailing before you."

Arwen smiled. "I will tell him at once," she assured her. "For there is nothing greater I can give my father, I think, to repay him for the generosity he has given me in trying to be able to let me go."

"Yes," Queen Melian agreed. "It was a great gift, and you should do well not to squander it, for your mother awaits you."

Arwen nodded again.

The room began to fill with glow again, and Queen Melian's outline blazed suddenly with brilliant light, just as it had when she had first appeared. She appeared as once benign and terrible, and well it was that she did, for it reminded me again that despite her appearance, she had not a single drop of human or Elf blood in her. She was one of the Maia, and not to be trifled with or tested against her will.

"Farewell," she murmured, but her voice echoed like a thousand bells.

Then I remembered Estel.

I shot to my feet, so suddenly that everyone started and she nearly fell over. "Wait!"

The brilliance in the room stayed the same, but Queen Melian's outline solidified a little, as if she was ready to leave but pausing momentarily on the doorstep.

"What of Estel, Your Majesty? She is one of this family as well; why have you not offered her the Choice as you offered it to her brother and sister and parents?" I demanded, feeling bolder with every word.

I _needed_ Estel, and I would fight to have her immortal if there was even the slightest chance of it.

The glow died abruptly, and sadness emanated from her entire person.

"Estel Elessariel," Queen Melian said slowly, "has not been granted the Choice. The Valar were quite specific, I am afraid, and I do not have the power to contest them on this decision. You . . . cannot . . . make this Choice, my child."

Eldarion rose. "Why?" he asked. "Estel has done more, been through more, _suffered_ more than all of us put together?"

Queen Melian raised her hand. "Calm yourselves, and hear me out," she commanded.

Very slowly, I sank back to my seat.

I didn't like the sound of this. Not at all.

"Why do I not have the Choice?" Estel asked, and her voice was so soft that even I had to strain to hear it.

Queen Melian fixed her gaze on Estel. "You cannot Choice, child, because you have not dwelt here long enough. Your parents, your brother, and your sister have spent time here long enough that they have become part of this land, part of this Age – and therefore, under the jurisdiction of the Valar here." She paused, and sorrow settled even deeper into the lines of her face. "But you, child – your stay here has been like a breath of air. We cannot presume to judge your actions on such short of a time, or there would be no chance of granting you any choice."

There was silence.

Then we all started arguing.

~ _Estel_ ~  
It took a long time before Queen Melian was able to regain control of the situation, because almost everyone was protesting what she had said earlier. No one was angry; indeed, my mother was pleading with tears shining in her eyes. Well, maybe Legolas could be said to be angry, but when Legolas was angry it was not the yelling kind of anger that had everyone scrambling for cover; it was the cold, calculated anger that made his eyes seem like the ocean itself was burning.

Finally, though, the talking died down.

I gazed at Queen Melian.

There was sorrow in her ancient eyes, anguished sorrow, and I could almost believe that this was in the Elder Days and I was her daughter Lúthien Tinúviel, returning from the Halls of Mandos with a message that would destroy any mother.

But there was something else there as well.

"There is another reason, isn't there?" I asked. "Why the Valar cannot grant me the Choice."

I felt everyone's eyes on me, but I did not lower my gaze or look to any one of them. This concerned me right now, and I knew that I would have to face it on my own, just as I had faced the fatal plunge from the cliff at Dol Amroth.

Finally, Queen Melian sighed.

"Yes," she acknowledged. "You see, Elessariel, the line of Beren Erchamion and Lúthien Tinúviel was foretold never to end. And it will end, if we granted all of you the power of Choice."

With those words, everything clicked.

I understood.

And then the hole in my heart appeared for the first time, and for the first time I felt sorrow so great that I knew that if Queen Melian could gaze into my heart she would see the same sorrow she felt reflected in my eyes just as her sorrow lived in hers.

In a way, she _had_ come to collect the life I had promised her.

Just not the way we had all thought.

Slowly, the words spilled from me, and with each word I felt as if the burden on my shoulders was getting so progressively heavier that would be no way I could ever carry it and be able to smile or laugh again.

"You need me to go back," I murmured. "You need me to go back, and finish what I started, and ensure that . . . that our line truly never ends."

I raised my gaze back to Queen Melian.

"That is why I cannot choose, isn't it? Because you know – and the Valar know – that if I could choose, I would choose to remain here, and live in immortality with Legolas. And so you cannot grant that to me."

Queen Melian lowered her gaze for the first time, closing her eyes. A tremble ran through her body, as if someone had plunged a dagger of ice into her heart.

"Yes," she agreed. "That is what we ask of you, Elessariel. For the lives of those you love, much is needed in return, and this is what the Valar desire of you. Without you to ensure that the line is continued, in kingship and in blood, the future will crumble into pieces, and although you will be immortal, no end of aid, of changes, of fighting will ever put Gondor or Rohan or Arnor or even Middle-Earth right again. It must be done."

"It must be done," I echoed sadly.

The words felt right to me. I knew of what she spoke – my path forward was clearer to me than it had ever been.

And yet, at the same time, part of me rejected it.

I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to be separated from Legolas. I didn't want to go back and face a future that was probably in as much as turmoil as I had left it in.

I did not want to.

I wanted to stay here, to live, to be loved, to be free of burdens and pain and loss for the first time in my life.

Queen Melian spoke again.

"There is still a choice before you, Elessariel. You can choose to refuse us, and deal with the consequences that fate will deal you. Or you can choose to accept the burden fate has handed to you, and return to whence you came, and leave all those you love behind, and take up the scepter and the crown and the mantel of the Queen, and be the first Queen of Gondor and Rohan and Arnor, and the last heir of Isildur, of Eärendil, of Lúthien Tinúviel.

"It is your choice to make."

I stared at her, and then for the first time I looked to Legolas.

He looked much as Arwen had when Queen Melian had pronounced her immortal and Aragorn mortal, but this time the pain cut at me as hers had not – for _I_ was causing this pain, and Legolas meant a thousand times more to me than Arwen ever would, for he was the one I had always searched for, the one everyone searched for – he was my other half, my soulmate, my true love.

And he was in pain.

I took a deep breath and turned back to Queen Melian.

"Queen Melian, I – "

But at the same time, Legolas's face was still in my face, looming in the back of my mind, full of anguish and despair.

Because of me.

The hole in my heart grew a little bigger.

"Queen Melian, I can't do this," I said instead. "I can't."

She merely nodded, as if she had been waiting for that answer, had expected it, had perhaps even planned for it as she had planned for the rest of this.

"I know, child," she said quietly. "But the choice must be made, and soon.

"You have until tonight."

Then the entire room flashed with light, and Queen Melian grew tall and beautiful and full of power, and her words rang in my ears like time being stretched so that it would never end –

And then she was gone.

And I took one deep, rattling breath, took one look around the room, took one more glance at my Legolas . . .

And ran.


	79. Chapter 78

**_Chapter Seventy-Eight_**

~ _Estel_ ~  
"Hey, lady, are you okay?"

I started, whirling to my left and almost going for the dagger that wasn't there. I hadn't expected my reverie to be disturbed, and especially not by the likes of a little boy with a sandy mop of dark blonde hair and open, honest, and at the moment concerned eyes that were the same blue-grey as mist over the ocean.

I had run from the room almost three hours ago.

No one had found me yet, but I knew better than to think it was due to luck or a good hiding place on my part. No. They were probably either trying to give me time and space, or trying to restrain and calm Legolas.

Legolas.

The sight of his face, so anguished, so torn, so bitter, rose too easily in front of me.

_Oh, _meleth_, how this must be tearing you apart._

"Lady?"

I glanced back at the boy, and had to rack through my mind to think of what he had asked me. "What? Oh – yes, I'm fine, child."

He took a hesitant step closer. "You don't seem like it, lady. Uh, no offense intended," he added quickly, no doubt noting the fine elegance of the clothes and realizing that I was more than a simple commoner of Minas Tirith.

"It is fine," I said gently, seeing the hesitation and understanding it easily. "I just have a great deal on my mind. . . If there is anyone to apologize, it is me."

A smile appeared on his face.

"Do you live around here?" he asked. "It's a great view, there, see, so . . ."

I returned my gaze over Minas Tirith. I couldn't see much of the entire city, but I saw enough to know that I seemed very much like a newcomer, standing here and standing quietly with my gaze fixated on the city – or, in my case, on the horizon – thinking or simply gazing in wonder and awe at Minas Tirith.

"No. I do not live here." _But one day I might._

"You see the coronation of the King?" he pressed eagerly.

I had to smile at his eagerness, so innocent and so happy. "Yes, I did, as a matter of fact."

"Wow!" he exclaimed. "Closest I got was peeking through the servants' quarters. How was it? Was it fancy? Well, it's always fancy, but _how_ was it? And did you know, there was a rumor that the Elves came! Well, at least some of them. But did you see any? And do you know anything about them? I've heard nothing but the old legends about the 'fair folk', but are they really fair and all?"

I laughed, raising my hands in mock surrender. "Child, if you want your questions answered, at least try and give me breathing space to answer!"

"Oh." He shuffled his feet, properly abashed. "Sorry, lady."

"It is nothing, child." I leaned against the wall. "So – what do you want to know?"

He perked back up instantly, eyes wide.

And then his stomach rumbled.

I laughed. "Mayhap we should find some food to fill that belly of yours first," I suggested, still laughing.

He mumbled, "Don't have food."

"Well, maybe it is time to remedy that," I said, feeling the slight pang of memory. I hadn't been in that situation for so long since I had come under the wings of Elrond, and then Aragorn, and then Legolas – but I could still remember times, way back when I had been a slave, when I had had that same innocent anguish of starving. I held out my hand. "Come, let's go raid the kitchens, shall we?"

He looked at me, eyes wide again. "Raid them?" he exclaimed. "But – "

I winked. "It will be our little secret, won't it?"

A slow grin crept across his face, and he set his hand in mine with a firm and delighted exclamation of agreement.

Just as I had said, we did indeed go to the kitchens. A half dozen words to the servants were enough to procure enough food to fee us and two others besides. The boy regarded me with amazed eyes when I returned with the food, although eventually he managed to put his awe aside long enough to dig in.

In between bites of food, I must have spent the next half an hour recounting the coronation to the boy. He was so curious, and his happiness was almost infectious. I couldn't help but smile and laugh around him, and for a time, the hole in my heart eased a bit.

I was just in the middle of describing Arwen when I noticed how close the sun was to the horizon.

_She said I had to choose tonight._

And night was almost here.

"I am afraid that I must go, child," I told the boy, rising from my seat.

"Oh. . . . Thanks anyway! I really learned a lot, and one day, I'm gonna be just like you!"

I paused in the doorway. "Why do you say that?"

"Well . . . You were so troubled," he observed. "But you're still holding yourself together, like a real royal or something. And you're really nice. So . . . um . . . thank you, lady."

I smiled.

But as I was gone, he called out suddenly, "Whatever's bothering you, lady – you'll get through it fine! Just like my dad."

I tried to find the heart to wander around Minas Tirith still trying to decide after that, but I found I couldn't. The decision had been made long ago; even now, I was already beginning to reconcile myself with the fact that I would lose Legolas, perhaps forever, to fulfill the promise and carry on my duties as the heiress to the throne and Isildur. It hurt me, but I knew that in the end I had no choice, because the other choice was to turn my back on my people, my family, and my duty, and I couldn't do that.

I had to go back.

Finally, I found myself standing in front of the quarters Legolas and I had been given when we had returned from Mordor.

I took a deep breath and raised my hand to the door. It opened silently, revealing an empty outer chamber. The fire was crackling almost merrily in the corner, and the room was clean and silent, as though I was stepping into it for the first time as a new guest of Minas Tirith. I could almost expect a maid to pop out of the inner chambers, finished with preparing the beds, and greet me.

As it was, the only greeting I got was from Legolas.

He emerged as silently as an Elf, pausing for a moment when he saw me, and then moved to embrace me.

"Estel."

I leaned into his embrace, winding my arms around him, and sighed. "~I am sorry for disappearing, Legolas,~" I said regretfully.

I felt him shake his head, even as he drew me closer.

"~It is no fault of yours,~" he reassured me. "~You needed time to think. We all did.~"

For a long moment, we stood like that, content within the embrace of each other yet knowing it could not last that long. He and I both knew that. He could not have known the choice I had made yet, but perhaps he sensed that our time together was growing short.

"~Did you eat?~"

I nodded against his chest.

Silence.

Legolas loosened his embrace slightly and gazed at my face. His own expression saddened slightly. "~You have chosen, have you not?~" he asked sadly.

I looked down.

He brushed my cheek with his fingers. "~Do not be afraid. I will – I can live with whatever choice you make. I will think no less of you, although I do think I can think a great deal more of you, _meleth_. But tell me: what have you decided?~"

I pulled away. "~I . . . I cannot . . . abandon my people. Or . . . turn my back . . . on my duty.~"

The entire time, my voice trembled.

Part of me could barely believe that I was saying this. I loved Legolas. I had promised to be there for him as long as my mortal life could allow, and he had pledged to love me as long as he lived – perhaps forever, if he could. We had found our way, through stumbling and pain and battle, and found love that I knew instinctively was something that I would never find again. No one could ever replace Legolas in my heart, and that hole left by his absence

But Legolas only gave a single, grave nod and sad sigh.

"~I always knew. In my heart,~" he admitted. "~It _is_ what I love about you, Estel, and so I always knew what your choice would be. . .~"

I looked back at him. "~You're just going to . . . to let me go?~"

"~It seems I must.~"

He gave me a sad smile to match the sadness in my heart, the resigned feeling of knowing that we were about to leave each other behind and perhaps never see each other ever again.

I sank back in to his embrace, unable to hold back my tears in the face of his generosity and affection.

"~Hush,~" he soothed. "~Do not give up hope yet.~"

I didn't know how long we stood there, but the whole time sadness was falling underneath the flames and waves of a new emotion, something I had never felt before and yet it was something that also demanded to be fulfilled. It burned within me, chasing away the icy coldness of sadness with the warmth of affection, love, and . . . desire.

"Legolas?"

"~Yes?~"

"~I . . . Can I ask you for a favor?~"

"~Anything,~" he promised recklessly, with a gentle squeeze. "~Anything, _meleth_, that I can give you – just ask.~" He laughed quietly. "~After all, there isn't much that _isn't_ yours.~"

I drew back and examined his eyes.

But they were clear, and open, and honest. He meant it.

_Here goes nothing._

I leaned forward, and then I kissed him, winding my arms around my neck, and knowing that he would understand.

At first he started.

Then, very slowly, like an ice statue melting under the sun, he kissed me back.

But when I pressed myself closer, he pulled away and carefully and firmly put distance between us.

"~Are you sure?~" he asked. His musical voice was uneven, almost panting, but he was holding it back. "~Are you completely, absolutely sure, Estel? This is one journey you cannot take back, nor pause. . . You can wait.~"

"~I _have_ waited, Legolas. But I can't wait any longer. When the sun rises – and you know this as well as I do – I'll lose you.~"

"~But . . .~"

I kissed him again. "~There can be no more hesitations between us,~" I said quietly. "~Time is gone, Legolas.~"

Finally, he sighed, and this time when he kissed me I knew that he had removed all barriers between us. We had no more time. And I did not want anyone but him, and he wanted no one but me, and I knew that I trusted him and he trusted me, and since we had no more time, now was the time. If this was to be my last night with him, I wanted to remember it forever.

Legolas swept me up and carried me into the bedroom.

I was awake the second the sun rose.

Before its rays had even crept across the room via the window, I was wide awake, lifting my head from where it rested on Legolas's chest and realizing for the first time just how tightly pressed together we were.

I smiled sadly.

Time had run out now.

Even now, I knew, for Legolas's eyes were, for the first time I had ever seen, closed, and his breathing was deep, and he did not stir when I did. He would not stir, I knew instinctively, until I was gone. No one had seen me enter this Age, and no one would see me leave it. Not even the one I loved most.

Carefully, I untangled myself from him and dressed as quickly as I could.

By the time the rays of sun snuck inside the room, I was dressed and sitting next to Legolas, holding his hand and watching him sleep, trying to memorize the one I loved.

Then, with a small burst of light, I felt another presence.

"Elessariel."

I didn't turn. "Queen Melian."

"It is time," she said softly, almost whispering.

She needn't have bothered. Legolas was sleeping unnaturally soundly, and I knew already that it was time to go. I had known as soon as I had woken.

Finally, I sighed, and leaned forward, and kissed Legolas one last time.

_I will never forget you, Legolas, and I will never stop loving you, not even unto the day of my death._

Then I slipped off the bed and faced Queen Melian.

"I am sorry," she said at once. "I know you would have found joy with him, had you been able to stay and live out immortality at his side as your sister will be able to. . . Yes, you would have found great happiness with him."

"I know," was all I said.

She sighed and extended her hand. "Come, child – your destiny awaits." Then she smiled suddenly. "Or should I call you 'Queen Estel Elessariel'?"

I looked back at Legolas just before the light erupted around us, the glow around us, outside of us, in us, blinding my vision and clouding all of my senses as full might of Queen Melian's power was revealed to me for the first time.

He was the last thing I saw before my world went completely, totally, utterly black.

And when I woke up, tears were the first thing I saw.


	80. Chapter 79

**_Chapter Seventy-Nine_**

~ _Estel_ ~  
I would think that being transported to almost a whole Age in the past would have some effect on me. Like I would feel nauseous or feel elated to be "home" or . . .well, anything. Something. An emotion that I could actually have a sensible, explainable, and Valar-blaming, family-oriented, publicly-acceptable reason for waking up with tears in my eyes.

No.

It was just the sun, shining full power in my eyes.

With a muttered curse, I moved towards the window to draw the curtains and cut off that sun. I wanted to be in the dark a little longer . . . to remember and hold close my last memories before I had lost Legolas forever . . .

That was when something attacked my legs, tangling them and sending me crashing to the floor.

_What the – _

I had been in too many fights, I guessed, so I went into attack mode, letting my instincts take over, wishing Legolas was at my side, Legolas who was always so clear-headed, sure-footed, swift in mind and action, Legolas who always protected me even if he himself was hurt, Legolas who loved me, my Legolas . . .

And that's when I heard a titanic _rip_.

_What the . . ._

I looked down at the assailant tangling my feet for the very first time.

They were bed sheets. Soft, cream-colored, and clean, they looked as unthreatening as a murder weapon ever could. Only now there was a jagged rip across them.

For the first time, I looked around my room . . . and gasped.

I had thought I would have awakened in a forest, or perhaps a dungeon, or wherever I should have been when I threw myself off the cliff. Maybe even in chains awaiting "reassignment" back into slavery. Maybe even half-dead and wishing I was dead.

But this . . . was no prison.

Not by a long shot.

The room was grand, opulent, beautiful – beyond words. Delicate sketches with tasteful colors brightened the ceiling with pictures of stars and animals and flowers. The floor was warm and fluffy thanks to the white carpet blanketing the room. A wardrobe was half open in the corner, revealing ornate and expensive dresses fit for perhaps Queen Melian herself. All around the room vases stood tucked into various corners, filled with flowers of all kinds. And the bed – the bed was a giant one, covered in soft cream-colored blankets and white pillows with an arching canopy of silk and cloth and tied back curtains.

_Where in the name of Valar _am_ I?_

There was a gentle knock at the door.

Startled, I glanced around as I hastily tried to untangle my legs from the sheet. It didn't help that I was wearing a billowy white nightgown with a purple sash that floated around my legs and made things even more confusing.

_Where's the door?_

I couldn't see one. Anywhere.

Another knock. "Your Highness?" a tentative voice called out.

This time, I really did fall over.

"Your Highness!"

The speaker moved into view, poking her head in from the missing wall of the room. Her eyes widened, and she rushed to my side. Between the two of us, we finally managed to throw the sheets back on to the bed, where they belonged.

She examined the rip and sighed. "Your Highness, you are very lucky that the tailors adore you," she said, running her fingers along it. "I'll send it down to get repaired this afternoon; that way by the time the coronation is over they'll be back on your bed where they belong and no one will be any the wiser that their Queen is notoriously clumsy."

I blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

She bundled up the sheet. "Yes, I know, you're thinking 'Leave me alone now, Miri, I've been stressed this entire week due to this coronation; I'm allowed to have accidents.' But, honestly, Your Highness, can you try to keep your dress from ripping? It's lovely, I must say."

"Why are you calling me 'Your Highness'?"

Miri clucked her tongue. "I suppose . . . as you haven't been crowned _yet_, technically you're still Princess Estel. But . . . the coronation _is_ in about three hours, so I'm making allowances."

"Um . . . Miri . . . um . . . where am I?"

"Don't tell me you slept through the entire thing!" she exclaimed, whirling to face me. She scanned my face as though trying to read a difficult book. "Your Highness, you're very good at hiding things, but do not tell me you don't remember the trudge up the levels of Minas Tirith? Valar, they are _exhausting_. Even you were drooping by the last two levels, child. And no wonder why. Between the negotiations with Arnor and rehearsing for the coronation, you've barely had time to eat, much less sleep. . . But you had a good sleep last night – at least seven hours, I think! So . . . I'm going to round up your entourage, and then we'll get you bathed and fed and ready. At least do me the favor of waking up while I'm gone, child."

Before I could say a word of protest, she was gone.

Once again, I wished for Legolas's presence. He would have been able to say something, do something, figure out what was going on. And get me _out of here_.

Who was that Miri kidding?

I wasn't a princess. I wasn't even "Estel" here; I was Elena the slave who'd just lost a son.

I rubbed at my forehead. "What is going on here?"

I knew I wasn't going to be answered.

With a sigh, I crossed the bookshelf tucked into the littlest corner next to a desk with a window in front. The desk was overflowing with books and paper and information, and for a second I was tempted to give up, close my eyes, and pinch myself really hard and wake up from this . . . whatever it was.

Then something in the window caught my eye, so I looked out.

And jumped three feet in the air.

This was . . . This was . . . _This was Minas Tirith_. I was in Minas Tirith. In one of the high towers. Reserved for the king or the royal family generally. I had only been in here once, with Aragorn, to help set up things.

What was I doing here?

I suddenly realized that the Elessar was still with me, and it was warm again. It seemed to direct my gaze downward, and I obeyed.

There was one book on top of the precarious clutter.

I squinted at it, and realized that it was some sort of recording book, meant for the histories. But whose or what histories escaped me.

That is, until I read the first line.

_King Elessar II passed away, leaving behind only one heir to the throne – his daughter, Princess Estel, who will take the throne as Queen of Gondor, Arnor, and now Rohan to form the United Kingdom of Middle-earth._

I collapsed in the chair. This made no sense. . . And yet . . .

I flipped feverishly back through the pages, unconsciously thankful for this storage of knowledge as guidance. It was so long, and there were so many sections, but I didn't have the time to scan and read. Pity. I'd have to go back later; some of these names were very interesting. Finally, I found what I was looking for – the section titled _King Elessar I, first King of the Reunited Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor, and Queen Arwen Undómiel_.

My eyes flashed over the section in a flash. Nothing new there. . .

Except the mention of King Elessar I's most trusted advisor – a Man named Lord Eldarion, for whom the son had been named for.

I skimmed through the rest of the sections . . . and slowly pieces started falling into place.

The future, it seemed, had changed.

A lot.

And I was about to be part of that change by becoming Queen after my father's sudden death.

I stood unsteadily. _Well, Queen Melian _did_ say I had to continue the line of Kings. . . And I _am_ the only heir still alive and able to be here. . ._

And so, apparently, I was going to be a Queen now.

_Excellent._

I fingered the Elessar nervously as I crossed to the dresser and opened it. All the dresses there were elegant, beautiful, and befitting a Queen of Gondor, Arnor, and Rohan – but there was one in particular that stood out.

Carefully, I lifted it out of the dresser and spread it on the bed.

Depending on where I stood and how the sun hit the gown as I watched, it was alternately yellow or green or blue – it shifted colors like the sea did. Its slender, figure-hugging bodice was adorned with lace and embroidered with flowers and stars etched in delicate colors of silver and gold. The yellow-green-blue skirt, which was scattered with more embroidered stars and had tiny diamonds sewn in, wasn't too large or billowy, like my nightgown, but it still was big enough that I could see that its function was to drape over my legs and flow with my steps, rustling and shimmering as I went. The sleeves were entirely of silver lace, woven to preserve my modesty while also demonstrating my position of power as Queen.

It was . . . beautiful.

At that moment, there was a knock, and then Miri entered.

"Oh, so you brought it out. Good, good," she said almost distractedly. "Well, come on, child, come over here! We only have two hours!"

Three hours later, I was kneeling on the steps on the terrace of Minas Tirith, and I felt the weight of the silver and gold crown rest on my head. It was heavier than I had imagined, but still lighter than most crowns thanks to the fact that Elvish craftsmanship had produced it. Besides, the weight also was due to the delicate chains of silver filigree that Miri and the others had woven into my hair, matching my dress.

"Now come the days of the Queen! Let them be blessed."

I recognized the same words, and somehow I knew that they had been said at each coronation since Aragorn's, a tradition unbroken in this somehow-fixed future.

I sighed, closed my eyes once, and then stood, and opened my eyes, pasted a smile on my face, and turned.

Showers of flower petals rained down upon me, and my smile turned genuine.

Then the crier stepped forth.

"Her Majesty, Queen Estel Elessariel, Queen of the United Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor and Rohan, the the last of the line of Isildur, of Eärendil, of Lúthien Tinúviel!"

The words rang in my ears, and suddenly a rush of memories flooded my mind.

Something suddenly clicked. Now I knew why Legolas and the others had been so uneasy after our trip to the ghost army, and then when I had released them of their oath, and even when I had confronted the Mouth of Sauron at the Battle of Mordor – I had spoken almost those exact same words, proclaimed my identity for all to hear, told everyone. Even then, I already had assumed the mantle of the Queen.

I glanced at the crowd of people – _my_ people, now.

And it felt right.

My smile widened. I had lost my family, I had lost my friends, and I had lost the only one I had ever loved.

But this felt _right_.

_I'll make you proud, Father – I will not let this kingdom fall as the Stewards did._

_And I'll never stop loving you, Legolas._

And so I raised my hands, and the crowds quieted, and I descended to greet my people for the first time as Queen Estel Elessariel.

* * *

AN: And that's the end! Anyone surprised, happy, confused, etc?

No, just kidding! There's still one more chapter to go, so stick around for the _real_ ending of My Fairytale, coming out next week . . . sometime.


	81. Chapter 80

**_Chapter Eighty_**

**100 Years Later . . .**

~ _Haldir Círdanion_ ~  
"Your Majesty is waiting for you," the guard told me.

"Thank you."

I passed through the gold and silver doors, held wide open despite the fact that the sun was setting and court was officially over. The symbol of Isildur glimmered softly on the banners hung in the throne room, but other symbols were there too – the old symbol of Arnor, for example, and Rohan, throwbacks to when both kingdoms had existed on their own with their own lines of Kings.

But the biggest banner, woven of the finest silver and gold filigree and decorated with the utmost care and most expensive jewels, was of the symbol of the United Kingdom, and was draped carefully around the throne where Her Majesty, Queen Estel Elessariel, sat.

I knelt in front of the throne, bowing my head. "You called for me, Your Majesty?"

There was silence.

But I did not break it, or twitch, or make any sign of annoyance.

Queen Estel was much respected all across Middle-earth where Men dwelt, for it was she who had managed to finally unite all three of the ancient kingdoms and had ruled for over a century with a firm yet just hand. She had brought back many of the old methods as well, and we lived in harmony now with the sea and the forest and the mines, as agile and healthy at sea among the waves as on land among the trees. Our lands prospered, and we had nothing to fear. At the last few campaigns, she had proved to all that she was willing to do anything to protect the kingdom – but of course, that had been many years ago. No one questioned her power now. No one even remarked on the fact that she refused to become married or bear children; such was the respect she held.

Even the clothes she wore bespoke such. She dressed simply, yet elegantly and with great care – the flowing creation of blue said that much, as did the headdress of _mithril_ and the crown upon her head. The scepter of the royal line was in her right hand, and I caught a glimpse of the Elessar upon her neck.

I felt a shiver.

So my father had spoken truly. The Queen bore the Elessar, just as the legends said.

Finally, the Queen spoke. "Haldir, son of Círdan. Welcome to Minas Tirith. I am glad that you came so quickly."

I raised my head, confused. I had hidden my lineage for so long. . .

The Queen smiled. "~Stand, Círdanion,~" she said softly.

I stood. "~How do you know who I am?~" I asked, trying to be as polite as possible but extremely curious as to how she knew.

She did not speak, but I saw a flash of triumph in her eyes. Something had changed.

Then I realized –

"You speak it?" I exclaimed.

The Queen's smile widened and she laughed. "~Certainly, Círdanion, I speak it,~" she replied, her voice still ringing with the musical power of her laughter. "~I may be old in your eyes, but you are young in mine, but that does me that I am ignorant. I am glad to see that your father taught you of what he knew. Have you finished your initiation?~"

"~Three years ago.~"

My voice was calm, but instead, I was trembling. My father had told me that ones who knew of the rites of the Believers were long dead, if they even remained, and I knew that almost no one knew Elvish as I did.

The Queen nodded slowly. "~That is good. . . For my time is ending, son of Círdan, and I fear the kingdom will need you more than ever when I am gone.~"

Her words didn't sink in at first.

"~How do you know who I am?~" I asked instead.

"~I met your father once,~" she answered simply, rising from her throne with scepter in hand, "~It was a very long time ago, and I do not think he recalls me. . . But he offered me aid then, and people – especially a Queen – ought not to forget their debts to another. . . However, do not think that I make this offer because I wish to pay a debt back. I am perfectly serious, and perfectly willing if you are, for I have no children, and I will _not_ surrender the scepter and the crown and the throne of my forefathers into the hands of a stranger to the line of Kings.~"

The Queen was walking towards one of the giant windows as she spoke; I followed, the strangest feeling quivering in my chest.

She gestured out the window. "~Tell me, Haldir, son of Círdan – what do you see?~"

"~I see . . . Minas Tirith.~"

The Queen made an impatient gesture.

Reluctantly, I looked harder.

"~I see . . . people. Ordinary people – traders, bakers, healers, and the sort. Your subjects. I see Rohan to the west, and Arnor to the north, and the battle stations in between. I see the signal fires, unlit, but ready in case of war. I see the ever-changing sea from whence our line came to Middle-earth, and I see the silent forests where the Elves once dwelt, and I see the ash-charred plains of Mordor where the final battle was fought. I see . . . the United Kingdom. _Your_ Kingdom,~" I finished quickly.

The Queen was studying me now, and it made me nervous. I had spoken much – perhaps too much – about what I saw, and I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"~You sound like your father,~" was all she said.

There was silence between us then.

I got the strangest feeling of sadness emanating from the Queen. I wasn't sure why. She had ruled long yet well – none of her people regarded her with hatred or fear, and even her enemies held respect for her.

"~Why have you called me here?~" I asked finally.

The Queen sighed, and finally turned from the window. For the first time in the entire audience, I felt like I had her full attention.

"You are right – it is my Kingdom. But it will not be so forever.~" Her eyes flickered. "~What has your father told you about the gift of Kings?~"

I blinked. "~But that gift is long dead,~" I protested.

"~Hmm. Not so. . . I have that gift.~"

Everything suddenly clicked.

I took a step back. "~You wish _me_ to take up the scepter of the King?~" I exclaimed. "~But – Your Majesty – that is highly . . . I have not been trained for this! Nor am I one of the royal line!~"

The Queen smiled wearily. "~My time has come, Haldir, and I must give back the gift that was given to me. . . I have not the time to quarrel over the legitimacy or illegitimacy of your birth or bloodline. But you are Círdan's son, and thus a son of the Believers, and thus carry within you the blood of the royal line. Like it or not, you _are_ the heir I have chosen. As to training – what training do you think I received?~"

"~But . . . Your Majesty . . .~"

"~No 'buts', Haldir,~" she interrupted softly. "~I shall formally transfer the scepter in to your possession in three days' time. From then on, it will be _your_ Kingdom.~"

I stared at her, my jaw agape. Queen Estel had made it very clear that of all her possessions she valued the Kingdom first and most – to give to me, willingly, was therefore the greatest indicator of her trust I could ever receive.

"~I . . . I am honored to accept, my Queen.~"

* * *

**Three Days Later . . . **

~ _Estel_ ~  
I opened my eyes, confused. But only darkness greeted that attempt, so that only confused me more. I had given back the gift; I had accepted death, and taken it upon myself, had closed my eyes, and breathed my last breath. I had set my affairs in order in the United Kingdom, and found a worthy heir, and trained him as much as possible before surrendering my life, and thus allowed the line of Kings to continue and my Kingdom to continue. I had done everything Queen Melian had demanded.

So why was I not passing into the Halls of Mandos and thence into the Void?

_Estel Elessariel._

The voice shook through my entire spirit, or body, or mind, or whichever I was using to hear it. It was ageless, powerful, flowing – a hundred, thousand, a million more times so than Melian's.

A bright star flashed on the horizon of my consciousness, like a meteor.

"Who are you?" I dared to ask.

_One you know._

Another meteor.

Irritation flashed through me. I wanted death and peace, not . . . this, whatever it was.

"Well, I am sorry to bother you, but as I would like to move _on_. . ."

_Not yet, child._

The voice kept shifting, which bothered me. At one moment, it was an old man, harmless yet wise; another, a young woman, sweet and maternal; the next, an ageless Elf, musical and impassive. It was like it couldn't settle.

"Why not? I've lived over a century now; I've given back the gift. You can't possibly expect that there is anything else I could give to Men – they saw me die," I added firmly.

_It is not on the behalf of Men that I have stopped your crossing into the Void, daughter of Elessar, but for the sake of Elves._

"Elves?" I blinked, useless yet habitual motion as it was. "But . . . I haven't seen Elves in . . . well, over a century. They bid farewell to me many years ago . . . at . . . Well, it doesn't matter."

The voice seemed to go still, as though focusing on that single pause.

_At whose bidding, child?_

I did not answer.

The voice seemed to go stern, or perhaps it was playful, or perhaps testing – I couldn't decide.

_Do you resent the Valar for tearing you from the side of your beloved, perhaps?_

I drew in a sharp breath and immediately coughed; I had not been expecting that I could still breathe, for one thing, and this was an unexpected revelation to come across. But funny how it seemed to unlock the gates I had sealed so long ago, when I thought I had come to terms with my fate, made peace with it, moved on. . .

"I . . . Sometimes."

Something told me that lying to this . . . whatever or whoever it was would not go down well.

_An honest answer. A refreshing quality when one reflects back on the ills of Men._

I dared to counter, "They are not lost yet. There is still goodness to be found in them – all of them. When given time, and opportunity, they can – "

The meteors danced, streaking back and forth, and I got the sense of impatience.

_All your life, you have defended Men, child – but I know Men far better than you ever will. You need not defend them to me. Besides, I know that in your heart, the music of the Elves has always been a greater call than any power of Men could exert over you. Is that not so?_

My throat went dry. I swallowed hard. "Yes."

A third star flared on the horizon, joining the spiraling dance to become a triple set that danced and danced and danced. . .

_I have watched you all your life, daughter of Elessar. You have done well._

"Thank you?"

A rumbling laugh, both gentle and condescending somehow at the same time, rippled through me.

_You cannot guess who I am?_

"No."

_Try again, child._

I closed my eyes. The multi-colored stars dancing and streaking and soaring; the sense that time itself was stopped, or turning back, or rushing forward; the power, all-encompassing, ageless in this voice; the fact that whoever it was, they had prevented me from crossing to the Halls of Mandos and into the Void, no mere feat indeed; and I could not _see_ them, per se, or really actually hear them either. . .

The name came easily.

"Eru Ilúvatar," I breathed suddenly.

_Well done, child. I am pleased with the labors you have done, with little aid from the Valar or even me. . . Fate has dealt you a cruel hand, in family, in life, in love – but you have never faltered to give what has been asked of you. Well done, indeed. . ._

"Why have you brought me here?"

_Once, the Valar denied you the Choice, because your deeds were not enough._

"I remember."

_But I am not the Valar. What must be done, must be done. And you have done it. _

The voice was changing now, and rapidly, tumbling towards a majestic voice that had me feeling like I should be kneeling.

_Therefore, Estel Elessariel, I will give you the Choice that was gifted to all in your family, and so now I ask you – What will _you_ choose, child? Does your heart still lie with the Eldar, or has it turned to the Men you have dwelt with? Choose carefully, for you cannot change your choice._

I hesitated.

Once, my answer would have been clear, and swift, and certain – I would stand with Men, for immortality was not a gift I wished for.

Then, my answer would have been passionate, and relieved, and immediate – I would stand with the Elves, for my beloved . . . for my Legolas.

Now . . . Now, I had neither passion nor certainty.

I had seen my share of immortals, yes, but then I had seen my share of mortals as well. Was it truly that imperative for me to scorn death merely for Legolas's sake, assuming he even remembered or wanted me after all this time had passed? Was it for my sake that I was choosing that, or for his? And was it _right_?

Silence passed as the stars danced and time flowed. There was no impatience now.

Finally, I opened my eyes again.

"I will stand with my heart," I said simply.

One second later, the stars exploded in light and time sped up and everything filled with light and speed.

_Well chosen, my child. . ._

_You would have been proud of me, Father_, I thought briefly.

I fell towards the gate, and it enveloped me with gentle darkness, Ilúvatar's voice still ringing in my ears, as I knew it would for many more moments to come.

And yet . . . And yet I felt excitement.

I could not wait for this.

My Choice was made, finally.

* * *

The first thing I noticed was a salty taste in my mouth.

So, naturally, the first thing I did was sit up, scrape at my eyes to rub away any residual salt, and then proceed to spit out whatever salt was in my mouth.

_That was nasty._

Then I looked around. The waters were warm, and gentle, and almost golden with the setting sun as they lapped at the shores. The sunlight brushed over me as well, and it made me feel warm and invigorated. The beach I was sitting on was clean and natural, with grains of white sand. The skies were the clearest blue I'd ever seen, with a puff of cloud here or there. And further up in the distance I could see green pastures and forests and groves. The entire landscape was clear, and sharp, and defined, as if the world was somehow _better_, like it was painted or seen through a glass that made each and every detail seem fresher, cleaner, more _real_.

Valinor.

The Undying Lands.

So Mithrandir _had_ spoken true when he had described them. . .

I stood, noticing only then that I was dressed in the same silver gown that I had been wearing when I had left Legolas . . . one hundred years ago.

And noticing that when I glanced in the water, my reflection was _nothing_ like what it should be.

I dropped to my knees, to study it further.

But then my hair fell over my shoulder. At first, it was strand by strand, but soon half of it was falling in a wave over my shoulder to drag in the water, causing ripples to spread through my reflection and ruin my makeshift mirror.

Impatiently, I started to push it back –

But then stopped.

My hair wasn't this dark, and lush, and long. Nor was my face so young and clean and pretty. . .

I wasn't vain. Believers, and especially those of the royal line, weren't raised to be vain. Especially those who became involved in the study of the arts of war.

But that didn't stop me from noticing that I was somehow decades younger than I had been when I parted from the world and returned the gift. I was perhaps only one or two years older than when I had been crowned and started by reign as Queen Estel Elessariel of the United Kingdom, and that was stretching my guesstimate.

I suddenly became aware of the sensation that I was being watched.

Very slowly, I gathered my hair and threw it back over my shoulder, as I had been doing moments earlier. Then I carefully started to stand, making my movements slow and cautious, yet ignorant and clumsy. Hopefully, that would be enough to deter –

"Do not move."

I froze. _Oh, this does not bode well at all. . ._

Carefully, I lowered my hands so that they were visible and away from any possible weapon-concealing places, keeping my muscles loose and free. The voice that spoke was the voice of a battle-hardened warrior; no need to make them any more jumpy by proving that I had a warrior's training as well and was considering using it right about now.

"May I turn around?" I asked.

Even my voice was different, still infused with the sweetness with youth – but also now empowered with the decades of power I had built in whilst Queen.

"You may."

Carefully, I pivoted in one smooth movement –

And gasped.

"_Legolas_?"

The speaker started, blonde hair rippling in the light breeze, blue eyes originally narrowed in suspicion now widening in surprise, hand raised to hold back the archers aiming for me, mouth slightly open to deliver the next command, stance wide and steady in preparation for attack – it was Legolas; there was no way I could have mistaken him.

He took a step forward, surprise now dominating his face. "Who are you?" he demanded, wariness in his tone.

"~Legolas, I . . .~"

I stopped short as the archers started exchanging surprised glances; I had given away my ability to speak Elvish, perhaps foolishly, perhaps wisely.

I chose to ignore them.

"~Legolas, it is me. Estel. Estel Elessariel.~"

He jerked as though I had slapped him with my words, eyes widening and losing all semblance of control. The wariness was slipping away no – my words were starting to sink into his mind, and – and then something clicked in his mind as his eyes swept over me one last time –

"Estel!"

Legolas leaped forward, arms already outstretched, his face shining with joy –

And then I was in his arms, and throwing my own arms around his neck, and burying my face in his chest as he pressed kisses to the top of my head and spun me in a circle off the ground.

"Estel," he whispered again, the wariness completely gone, wiped out by affection and joy and love.

I lifted my head. "~I've missed you,~" I said simply.

His smile was blinding as he kissed my forehead, and his embrace was so tight I feared I would soon lose the capacity to breathe.

But I wasn't complaining.

Why would I?

I was back with him, where I belonged, with no regrets and no more separation.

"~How?~"

"~Eru sent me back. He gave me the Choice. And I chose you.~"

His embrace tightened tenfold.

"~I barely recognized you. You've the bearing of a Queen, now,~" he said quietly. "~And you've grown – in spirit, in heart. I can sense it. I barely recognize you now. . .~"

I met his eyes and tugged his head closer to mine. "~Do you recognize _this_?~"

And then I kissed him.

For a second, he stiffened and seemed on the verge of pushing me away.

But then he relaxed, and drew me closer, and kissed me back . . . And I was away, floating in heaven and bliss and love, feeling the bonds of love sharpening between the both of us, binding our hearts and minds and souls together, finally, for eternity, because immortality was settling in my blood now, and with every second that passed I was becoming more and more an Elf in every way, and with every passing moment my bond with Legolas was strengthening and sealing –

Legolas broke the kiss.

"~Yes. I do.~"

His eyes were shining with a fierce, powerful, adoring light as he gazed at me, as though seeing me for the first time – which, in retrospect, he was, in a way.

"~I love you.~"

"~And I you,~" I whispered, nearly shivering as the full power of his love for me finally reached me.

Then we kissed again, this time slow and sweet and somehow still as potent and powerful and loving, and for the first time in my life I finally realized what it meant to truly feel like I belonged somewhere.

Because I was Estel Elessariel, and now, finally, I was home, because now I had my Legolas, and with him I would finally begin to live my _real_ life - my fairytale.

**_The End_**

* * *

AN: And that's the end of My Fairytale. . . So, what did you think? Any last comments, reviews, anything?

I do not know when I shall next decide to post a story in this fandom, so until then good-bye! Keep your eyes open for whenever I finally decide to return with whatever story I select! And thanks to everyone who's been following My Fairytale and reviewing and all – it really made my day with each review! Thanks again, to all!


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